The Reunion
by chips2
Summary: Ste is left devastated when Brendan unceremoniously dumps him shortly after he experiences a traumatising event.  Six years later they reunite unexpectedly. Have they both moved on beyond a point of reconciliation? COMPLETE!
1. The Reunion Stephen

_**Present Day (Day 1)...**_

You move on in life, don't you? Like you had to after the _incident_ six years ago.

Shit happens. Bad Shit. The kind of shit that gets you close to putting blades to your wrists, a bag over your head _and_ then jump off a bridge. But you don't because you know you have kids who would lose a father and a best friend who happens to be mother to those kids. She would never forgive you. They would miss you incredibly. They would care that you have gone. The only ones except for Martin, you think. No. You _know,_ because with every fibre of your being you are certain that _he_ didn't care. Still doesn't probably. He made that perfectly clear. Brutally so. Like daggers stabbing you multiple times in the chest. Pins in eyeballs. A round-house kick to the nuts.

You didn't even see it coming.

He had been so close to being the person you always wanted. He had dropped the pretence of not wanting you near. He took the gentle teasing from his sister Cheryl, Amy and Lynsey about how he was lucky to find someone like you. As 'patient and adorable'. He was one hundred percent open to them about you eventually. Treated you like his other half.

And they probably weren't the only ones who knew in that small village called Hollyoaks because he had started to slip up; act towards you in public the way he did in private but diluted. The looks. The light graze of his fingers against your skin. The sharp inhalation of air when near you. The words; their tone too familiar for a boss to an employee, too intimate for friendship.

People were probably beginning to know and he seemed not to care anymore. He would catch them staring at the two of you in disbelief as the penny dropped and give them the eye that said,

'Yes. This is what it looks like. And what?'

Then everything changed in the blink of an eye. He tossed you aside while you were broken and bleeding, when you needed him most. Right when you knew that his arms around you, the thud of his heart against your own, and the scrape of his facial hair as he brushed his lips against yours would have been enough to make you feel protected and grounded. Not lost at sea, petrified, vulnerable and wanting to end it all.

But he didn't stick around. He ran a mile; turned his back on you.

It was up to your kids and Amy to give you the strength to pick yourself up and dust yourself off. Eventually it was Martin who helped you close that chapter on your life and move on from your ex. God knows how, but Martin held your hand and acted as scaffolding while you built yourself back up from the inside out.

He is your rock and people say you are his. Five years together and still going strong...

"Ste, you aren't eating."

"Huh?" You look up at Martin abruptly. His Glaswegian lilt filters into the centre of your brain. For a few moments the Italian restaurant you two are dining in faded away to make room for memories of an increasingly distant past.

"It's just that I have to get going soon, babe." He says eyeing you closely.

"What?" You sound blank and distant but Martin is used to this. He is used to all your quirks and traits having been your boyfriend for five years and knowing each other for a year before that. The blankness was far worse in the past. He won't get alarmed by this momentary lapse of yours.

"The conference." He says with a smile that is a perfect balance of concern and amusement. "The reason we are out here in Dublin."

You nod and smile slightly in that 'Oh yeah, silly me' way.

Of course. Ireland. Three days. UK Council for Psychotherapy Annual Conference. You are his plus one for the Conference dinner event on the last night. You have just the suit for it. The one that made Martin go crazy and say,

'Suit makes you look _caliente_, babe! Is it wrong that I want to rip it off you now? With my teeth. Fuck it. Screw me ma's birthday... let's fuck!'

You laughed shyly because Martin knows how to make you feel desired. The use of foreign langauge is his 'thing'. He is multilingual and has a talented tongue...

Anyway, the dinner event and the suit wearing aren't for another three days. Until then you are going to do what you always do when you travel with Martin on one of his trips and he is busy with work; catch some sights and absorb local culture to fill the time.

Dublin is no Kuala Lumpur, your last trip together, but you'll find something to do.

"It's no KL." He says with a broad knowing smile. "But-"

His smile is one of the first things that got you about him.

'He's hot, Ste! And those muscles... I approve!' Amy said after she first met him.

You grab his hand across the table and grin back. "It'll be fun. I am good at keeping myself occupied. Plus I need to revise the cafe's menu so-"

You look down at your plate which is untouched save the fork piercing a few pieces of pasta as you think of your own small eatery back in Chester. You have lost your appetite. You try and ignore why your cheeks ache from the effort of smiling. You know it has something to do with being in Dublin. This restaurant.

"What's wrong?" Martin asks.

"Nothing." You practically hear the creek of your facial muscles as they try for a more genuine happy expression. You get a flash of _him_ in your mind; cheeky grin, Irish lilt, cocky glare.

Martin raises a sceptical eyebrow.

"You can't fool me." He links your hands, staring down as your fingers curl up together. "Is it because we are in Dublin? You know, where Brendan's from."

Your heart seems to stop at his guess then you get annoyed. "Please don't try to analyse me. I am not one of your clients. Anymore." You pull your hand away from his and close your eyes. You whisper before you can stop yourself, giving your state of mind away,

"And please don't mention his name."

You open your eyes again and take in Martin's downturned mournful eyes.

"This isn't _Candyman_, Ste. Saying his name once in a while won't lead to bad things happening."

"He is in my past."

"Yeah. That is exactly how you are acting. Like he is well behind you." He mutters sarcastically. "Makes me _muy feliz_ that even his name still has a massive effect on you."

"What does that mean? Stop using Italian words."

"It's Spanish." He looks at the time and adds. "And I've got to go."

You snatch his hand when he stands up to leave feeling a rush of panic that your rock is walking away. "Okay. Fine. I admit it. Being here is messing with my head a little but that's understandable, innit?"

After a pause Martin's releases a reluctant grunt. It is a lighter, cleaner version of how _he_ used to grunt.

"He is in my past Martin. I have moved on but that doesn't mean I have forgotten everything. It still feels raw at times but that's normal, right? You told me it was." He sits back down. "And yeah, being here is harder than I thought it would be, kind of, and I don't really like hearing his name but I'm fine. We're fine. Yeah?"

He studies you closely and you know you have managed to win him back around. His mouth twitches into a sly lopsided grin,

"We just brought the drama for no good reason, didn't we?"

You nod.

"I think I am stressing over my presentation. That's all." He says.

"You'll be fine. You always are." You reassure. Martin is in your heart; locked and tucked away."I love you. You know that, right?"

You say it and you mean it.

He gives your hand a squeeze. "'Course. Love you, too."

There easy. You are back on track.

You split the bill and make plans for the evening as you head out of the restaurant. You are so engrossed in what Martin is saying that you collide into someone. Solid. Tall. Suited and booted.

The apology on your lips dies as you look into the person's face; his blue eyes, dark almost black hair, moustache. Still the moustache...

_His_ eyes widen momentarily in recognition before showing you a flash of exquisite pain that is gone so quickly you almost miss it.

Sweaty palms, palpitations, butterflies in stomach, dry mouth, tingly all over... You don't know whether you are terrified or turned on. Do you want to run and hide or ram your tongue down _his_ throat?

"Sorry about that." Martin says on your behalf to him when you find yourself frozen into inaction and silence.

For a second you think that Martin will recognise _him_ from your endless descriptions and stories of _him_ in the past. But he doesn't and your instinct suddenly sharpens into a need to move as far away from where you are as possible.

"Yeah." You hear _him _whisper quietly while never taking his blue eyes off you. "No problem, mate."

"Daddy bear, can we please sit? My feet are killing me."

You look over at the woman by _his_ side, the one he has a loose hold of. She is predictably pretty, young, dressed in a figure displaying dress and sky high shoes that don't look designed for walking.

You bore your eyes into her in a manner not dissimilar to a bullet piercing through flesh. You feel the licks of jealousy, anger and resentment deep in your soul.

"Oh my God!" She says when she sees you as though she recognises you. She can't. You have never met her before. "You are-"

_He_ nudges her and silences her in the process, clears his throat and speaks directly at you,

"This is Nicole. She-"

You interrupt him not wanting to hear him say the words 'girlfriend' or 'wife' or whatever. Shakily you say,

"Um, we are running late. Martin, let's go."

"Stephen." You hear _him_ say as you grab Martin's hand and drag him out of the restaurant quickly. For two blocks you don't break your stride or your grip on Martin's hand even while he asks you over and over again

'What the fuck just happened, Ste?'

'Who are they?'

'Stop, Ste!'

'Who the fuck was that?'

He finally stops you by wrapping his arms around you and practically lifting your feet off the ground.

"Stop!" He says kindly but firmly.

You feel tears streaming down your face quietly while you hold his gaze. It takes him only a further second to put two and two together.

"Shit!" He says softly before wiping your tears away and kissing you softly on your forehead then your lips. "That was Brendan."


	2. The Reunion Warren

_Six years ago..._

You are seething. Spitting feathers. This close to losing your cool but you know that getting angry doesn't get you far.

Getting even does.

After months of sizing each other up and testing boundaries, trying to decide whether you are better off as friends or foes, Brendan has thrown down the gauntlet. In the dead of night, as you stumble out of the empty shed in the corner of the village that has been the hiding place for your £50,000 in cash loot, you shake in pure rage.

All the money is gone except for an insulting fifty pound note placed carefully in the centre of an otherwise empty dugout whose secret hatch is flung open. The broken lock taunts you with proof of how stupid you were to think that no one would ever find it.

Who's afraid of the big bad Fox? Clearly you were wrong to think the answer was everyone.

Brendan is the only one with the means, motivation and brains to find your stash of money.

This must be revenge for the incident of his brick of drugs that you found inadvertently in the club's office a couple of months ago. You had taken pleasure in telling Brendan, who denied all knowledge of the cocaine, that you flushed it down the toilet in an altruistic gesture,

'Close shave, ey. Cops would have been all over us if they caught wind of it. God knows who was stupid enough to leave it here.'

Brendan's poker face hadn't been able to contain his shock and distress at his loss of earnings. His loss was your gain. You hadn't destroyed the stuff. Instead, you got a tidy sum of cash from selling it on. A nice little earner for nearly no work.

So this must be his way of paying you back. The thing Brendan hasn't factored in is that you don't go down without a fight and you never lose. Ever. Certainly not to some smooth talking, slimy Irish git.

Ding ding. The gloves are off. It's Warren Fox versus Brendan Brady and you can already smell victory.

XOXO

You go straight to the club even though it is approaching three in the morning. It is after closing time but you know Brendan is still going to be there. You overheard him mention it to his sister when she and Lynsey had invited him to join them for late night drinks, snacks and board games at Lynsey's place. He said he had the club's books to balance after the club night, something the two of you did not infrequently.

You square your shoulders and ball your hands up into fists as you approach the doors of the club, readying yourself for a confrontation. You are a big man; intimidating physically. But you aren't violent. Not normally. Funny, you think, when you consider that the man you are about to confront looks too suave to use his fists and yet he is the more physically aggressive of the two of you.

The minute you unlock the club and let yourself in you know something is off. The lights are still on. That's odd. There is ambient music is filtering down from the floor above. Not club music. No thump-a-thump. Mellow stuff. Slushy. Otis? Al Green? Definitely Motown. Not your thing. Brendan's.

You are light on your feet as you climb the stairs wondering what he is playing at. You don't want to reveal your presence too soon in case you find something interesting. You hear muffled sounds under the music before your head can see onto the next floor's landing. Human sounds.

When you can just about get a panoramic view of the second floor you stop. They say that a picture tells a thousand words. Well, if this isn't a picture! You stare at what is in front of you with the morbid fascination of a kid picking at a dead bird. You did not expect this.

Your archenemy, Brendan Brady, balls deep in Ratboy, Ste Hay.

Doggy style.

The signs of urgency of their coming together are evident. The kid's uniform is pushed aside. Pants and trousers bunched around knees. Shirt tucked under armpits. Bent forward over the back of one of the club's brown leather sofas face down, arse up, legs spread as much as his bunched up trousers allow. His hands are secured together at the wrist behind his back with one of Brendan's, like being handcuffed.

Brendan's other hand holds the lad's hips steady while he fucks him mercilessly, his grey suit still on except where his flies are undone to allow his business to do its business.

You can hear the snap of hips colliding; fast and firm. It looks brutal so your first thoughts aren't,

'Fuck me, the rumours are true! Tache-man is queer with Ratboy!' Instead you wince as you look at Brendan's sizeable sheathed cock in motion and think, 'Is the kid okay?'

From the look of pure ecstacy of Ste's face the answer surprisingly seems to be 'yes and some'.

There is a lack of warmth in Brendan's actions. This must be a booty call/ fuck buddy scenario. This is not love. It is too primal and animalistic. You reckon that if this is how men have sex with each other it is a miracle they come out of it alive and wanting more.

Then something shifts. Brendan releases Ste's trapped hands and takes off his suit jacket and shirt quickly. He lowers his trousers and pants without pulling out of the lad then leans over Ste and tongues his ear before languidly kissing down his jaw line. His body is flush with the lad's back and his hands fan out over Ste's taut bronzed stomach and chest pulling him in.

Ste gasps then holds his breath as Brendan gently feels him up taking a break from the pummelling but still balls deep. One of Brendan's hands moves over the scanty hairs of Ratboy's groin before wrapping itself around his rock-hard dick. He jerks Ste off and begins to rock into him slower now, eliciting a deep groan from the younger man.

"You like that?" Brendan whispers frantically, out of breath.

Ste drags a hand through the Brendan's hair encouraging him to face him. Their lips meet in a kiss that is challenged by their positions but still burns, sloppy and sensual.

It is this kiss that makes you revise your assessment of what you first saw between them. Maybe this is more than a booty call. Their embrace is violently intimate and makes you feel like you are intruding on something pure, personal and powerful.

"Yeah." Ste sighs with their mouths millimetres apart before a deep guttural sound emerges from his chest. It is a laugh of sorts, only filthy and erotic. "I love it."

"You are so hot." Brendan whispers into his mouth before capturing Ste's lips with his own.

A couple of deep firm plunges cause Ste to shudder. The lad is losing himself. His eyes are glazed; turned on beyond a point of no return.

He surprises you when he whispers,

"I ... I love you, Brendan."

He grinds himself back onto the taller man.

What. The. Fuck? The lad loves that Irish mug? That makes him a mug.

There is silence. Brendan's pummelling ceases; sex in stasis. The only sound is the dulcet tone of Otis or Al as Brendan looks intently back at Ste.

Interesting. There is fire and fear in that look.

"Don't." You hear Bren say softly.

You have stared for too long. This is bordering on perversion on your part so you walk down a few stairs to get them out of sight. You lean on the wall of the stairs to eavesdrop further though.

"Why? It's true." Rat boy sounds sincere. "I don't have to pretend. There is no one else here."

The rumours about these two have hotted up in the village recently but you have been too busy to care. It doesn't affect your relationship with either man. You aren't Victorian. Your feeling is, 'do what you need to do to get your rocks off'. Live and let live. The only reason why Brendan's sexuality had held any level of interest to you before was because at one point it had seemed that he wanted to keep it a secret at all costs. And you were one of a few who knew about him. That information had held power once before it became almost public knowledge.

"Turn over, Stephen." You hear Brendan say firmly. "Lie down. On you back."

There is shuffling then after a few moments.

"Legs, Stephen." Voice full of passion and lust.

More shuffling, an answering moan from Ste as he is penetrated once again followed by gentle regular exhaled sighs from him. The pace has slowed down. The tone has changed. The romantics might call what you are hearing 'making love'.

"Fucking hell." Brendan's voice is muffled. "Want to stay in you forever, Stephen."

You walk away. You have seen and heard enough. As you exit the club you catch the lyrics of the song playing quietly through the speakers.

_# If I gave you my love, I'd tell you what I'd do,_

_I'd expect a whole lotta love outta you._

_You gotta be good to me,_

_I'm gonna be good to you._

_There's a whole lotta things you and I could do..._

_What about the way you love me,_

_And the way you squeeze me._

_Hey, Hey, Simply beautiful, Simply beautiful...#_

Accidents don't happen around Brendan Brady. Everything is by design. The music playing in the background is no exception. This is a love song and you are not sure whether Rat boy realises that it is being played just for him.

You smile with the satisfaction of knowing that there is a plan forming in your mind. Maybe this 'relationship' can be used to your advantage.

You put two and two together and come up with £50,000 right back in your pocket.

XOXO

You observe Brendan and Ste over the next week and everything you see confirms what you saw in the club after hours.

Brendan is pussy whipped. Can you call it pussy whipped when it has to do with a bloke? Maybe cock whipped...

You saunter up to him as he stands behind the bar one afternoon leaning on a corner wall with his arms crossed as he micromanages Stephen and Jacqui.

"Hey sweet cheeks, less chat more action. Clean some glasses, will ye?" He says to Jacqui then turns to Rat boy. "Stephen, I need ye to help me get some crates from the cellar. Now."

"Yeah. Sure, Bren."

Jacqui raises an knowing eyebrow at the exchange but says nothing.

"Hiya mate." You say as you approach them. "Alright?"

"Never better, Foxy. Never better." Brendan answers and subconsciously glances at Ste.

You grin at him and nod.

"You stroking out or something?" He asks when you don't say anything.

"Nah. Nah, mate. Just wanted to have a word."

"Shoot." He says.

You drop your grin. "In private."

He frowns at your serious tone. "Get started downstairs, Stephen. I'll see you in ten."

"Okay." Rat boy says uncertainly. He senses the tension between you and his bloke. "See you in a bit."

You wave at his retreating slight body as he runs downstairs.

You lead the way to the office with Brendan close behind you and close the door once you are in.

"Why the face, Foxy?" Bren drawls. "Stepped on the scales? They say _Lighter Life_ is the way to go."

You ignore his ribbing. With hands in pockets and a confident stance, you speak,

"I am giving you one chance to make this painless, 'tache man. Right now. Otherwise I am going to hurt you so badly you will regret having ever messed with me."

He cocks his head to one side and sniffs. "What are you talking about?"

"My money. I want it back."

"Thought so. You _are_ having a stroke." He tries to get past you. "I'll get you an ambulance."

You lock the door. "Not so fast."

He narrows his eyes and hisses. "Open the door, Foxy!"

"Give me my money!"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Fifty grand. Stolen from the shed. Mine." You say slowly as if talking to someone remedial.

He shakes his head. "Nope. You've got the wrong man."

"See, now this is a shame." You feign sadness. "I was hoping we could do this the easy way."

He laughs at that. Pats you on the back like a pet and then walks round you, unlocking the door.

"Get your facts straight before you go around making accusations." He closes the door behind him leaving you seething in the office.

_You be careful who you decide to mess with_, you think, curling your lips into a determined smile.

XOXO

You pick the time and day carefully. Friday, 2.45am. Looking at the club's rota you find this is the ideal time to put your plan into action. Ste is not due to return to work for three days after that.

When his shift ends in the dead of night you are ready for him, hiding in the shadows of a quiet part of the route he uses to get home. You are dressed in black with matching gloves and balaclava. You pour half the clear contents of the unmarked bottle you have in your pocket onto a clean white sheet keeping the fumes that then come off it at a distance.

A few minutes later he rounds the corner, heading your way. He has a spring in his step and a small smile on his face. He is speaking into his phone so you withdraw into the shadows.

"Can I see you tomorrow?"

He smiles at the reply. "No. You aren't that irresistible! It's just that Amy and the kids are off to see Mike for the weekend which means I have the house to myself, so..."

You see him dart his tongue out to wet his lips as he walks past you unknowingly. You follow him quietly. He is so into his conversation that he doesn't notice that he is being stalked.

"It's fine. I'll see you on Monday, yeah? Enjoy watching the game with Pete. Oh wait! By the way, have you noticed that Warren keeps staring at us?" He says. There is genuine worry etched into his tone.

He waits a reply and then says, "Funny! Somehow, I don't think he is into taches but... anyway; maybe I am being a bit paranoid. It's just I knew him way back when. He isn't someone to mess with. He can be really creepy, Bren."

You smile. The lad has got that right. You wrap the white cloth around your hand.

"Okay, Bye."You hear him say softly and then turn off his phone. Bad news for him. Good news for you. That phone conversation was keeping him safe.

You stalk up to him quickly. He senses only too late that someone is behind him. He turns around with fear registering on his face.

He turns to run and emits a strangled, 'No' as he reads the situation for what it is; dangerous.

He doesn't get far.

You grab him around his waist but he struggles so impressively and lets out a shout so loud, you are forced into punching him in the ribs with all your force just to startle him into stillness. You hear the crunch of broken ribs on impact and his sharp wheeze. Immediately, you push the cloth in your hand into his face. It isn't long before he goes limp in your arms.

You pull him into the shadows.

_Sorry Ste_, you think. _Nothing personal._

XOXO

_Dear readers, thank you for reading and reviewing this. It is an experiment in writing style. I hope it isn't too weird for you! By the way, the song playing in the club when Brendan and Ste are getting down and dirty is the very sexy 'Simply Beautiful' by Al Green. Amazing song. Smoother than nectar..._


	3. The Reunion Brendan

**_Present day (Day 1)..._**

Fucking Nicole. You told her she didn't need to come. She definitely did not need to dress up like she was about to go out to _The Ivy_ for lunch with some professional football player ready to be paparazzi'ed.

She is a good friend, second only to Paddy, and an invaluable colleague and business partner. The two of you co-cown _VIBE_, a small exclusive nightclub located just off Dame Lane in the centre of Dublin and _THE ELECTRIC_, a gay-friendly club on the other side of town. When you returned to your childhood city, six years ago, your mate Paddy arranged a meeting between you and Nicole Manzoni as possible business partners given her good business mind and funds from daddy dearest. You suspected that he had also been trying to match you up.

Had you been that way inclined you would have fist pumped him for the effort. Nicole is a foxy stick of dynamite. In some ways her signature features mirror yours. She is tall with blue piercing eyes and dark wavy long hair that she normally wears in a loose low pony tail. Her features are sharp and remind you of a predator's. She looks like a fighter and she is. If people don't mistake you for a couple then they invariably assume you are siblings.

When you met you didn't end up hooking up, what with your sexuality and her common sense, but you did become inseparably close friends... not that you would ever admit that to her.

You look back at her as she teeters after you from the car park to the outpatient department of St Vincent's University Hospital. Her face is pinched and she moans about her feet aching in those ridiculous heels she is wearing.

"Wait, Brendan!" She says. "Ouch! Fucking Louboutins!"

"Hurry up, Niks. I'm late." You say with a wink and a sly grin as you take in her little black dress and red stilettos. "You are walking funny in them by the way!"

"Fuck off!" She replies with a smile. "They're sexy and anyway after this I am taking you out for lunch somewhere nice so I thought I'd dress for the occasion."

"I thought we were getting back to work a.s.a.p.?"

"Work can wait for an hour or two. I know you have been nervous about today."

"I haven't."

She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Bren, you can't lie to me. How long have we known each other, ey?"

"Too long."

"Charming. Nearly six beautiful years and in all that time I haven't seen you as quiet and introspective as you have been these last few weeks."

She grabs your hand and you walk hand in hand to the reception desk.

"Morning." You say. "I have an appointment with Dr Crowther, haematologist."

The receptionist looks at the two of you and gives you a winning smile. You know she has made the assumption that you and Niks are a couple.

"Yes. We are running on time would you believe! Take a seat and you should be called shortly."

"Thank you." Nikki says and steers you towards some seats.

"This is probably a load of fuss over nothing." You say, trying to convince yourself.

Nicola gives your hand a squeeze and then surprises you by wrapping her slim arms around your shoulders. She buries her face into your neck. After a moment you hear her sniff.

"Nicola?" You say, glancing around at the other waiting patients who look at her in bemusement. "You okay?"

"No!" She mumbles into your chest. "What if something is very wrong with you?"

"It won't be." You say as confidently as you can.

You think back to how you got to this point, waiting for your follow-up appointment in the Haematology department of St Vincent's University Hospital.

You had been feeling unwell for a few weeks now; tired all the time. You ignored it, putting it down to overworking. Then you developed night sweats, lost your appetite and lost weight. Your sister noticed the weight loss. You slept all the time with little or no warning.

You started getting worried but it was only when Niks found you in the office of _THE ELECTRIC_ fast asleep in the middle of the day, drenched in sweat that the ball started rolling. She dragged you to the GP.

You had some blood tests. You were told to take the foot off the accelerator by your doctor and you thought that was that. But it wasn't. The blood tests came back showing,

"A significantly abnormal blood picture, Mr Brady."

Apparently that meant an urgent outpatient appointment to the haematologist at St Vincent's for 'further tests' which happened two weeks ago. You had a repeat of the blood tests done by the GP and bone marrow aspiration from your hip bone, something you could do without repeating any time soon.

You have been telling yourself that this is all a precaution. That Niks has gone and made a mountain out of a mole hill. You are young, relatively. You don't smoke. You exercise regularly. You always play safe when you pick someone up for the occasional between the sheets fun and frolic. You wear a seat belt. Okay, so maybe you could drink a little less but everyone has a vice.

Bottom line, you can't be seriously ill. You are counting of living life for some time yet. And yet as you wait for your follow-up appointment with Dr. Crowther your stomach in knot. You feel a sense of impending doom. You have never felt this weak in your life. That's not normal.

Nicole curls your hands together, rubs her tears then she leans her head on your shoulder.

"You should tell Chez and your ma."

"And worry them for no reason?"

Nicole sighs. "It may be something, Bren."

"Then I'll tell them then. I'm not going to worry them unnecessarily. Besides Chez is busy with Carlo, those three brats of hers and another on the way."

Nikki sighs again. "Maybe we should follow in her foot steps and find ourselves a cute guy with a Mediterranean accent to whisk us off our feet!"

You snort derisively. "One to share?"

"No. One each."

You grunt at her fantasy. "You're on your own."

She sits up straight to look at you. "After this appointment we both need to get us some cock, Bren."

You look around in embarrassment hoping no one has heard.

"What! We are both easy on the eye." She whispers then, "How long has it been for you?"

"What?" You whisper.

"You getting some..." She raises and lowers her eyebrows suggestively.

"Fuck me!" You groan quietly at her directness.

"And I am not talking about the odd trip you take to _The George_ to pick up a mousy blond, scrawny guy that looks like that boy in the picture you have tucked into your wallet."

You look sharply at her. She has been through your things without your permission and seen the six year old picture of Stephen. It feels like the deepest violation.

"I don't see how it's any of your business, Niks." You say trying to keep calm.

"Who is he?" She asks. "The lad in the photo. Cute in a twink type of way, daddy bear."

She winks at you.

You groan. Chez has mentioned that Nicole is the definition of a fag hag. Much as you hate that term it is times like this that you realise that she is right.

"You have never mentioned him before. He must be someone special."

"He is a guy." You answer shortly and rub your eyes tiredly. "Just some guy from another lifetime."

"That you keep a photo of with you at all times."

You stay quiet and stare ahead as brutal visions of scars, blood, bandages and bruises mix with recollections of caresses, kisses, laughs and long horny fucks. You close your eyes against the memories.

"Brendan Brady? The doctor will see you now."

XOXO

You know it is bad news the minute Dr Crowther says,

"Mr Brady, I am glad you brought your partner with you today. I wanted to discuss the results of the tests we did."

"Uh, yeah. Nicola is a friend." You clarify.

"Right. Are you happy for me to speak freely with her present?"

Now if that isn't a warning shot, you don't know what is. You nod numbly and feel Nikki's hand squeeze yours harder.

"Hit me with the facts, doc." You say trying to keep your voice light and failing miserably.

The doctor's face grows sombre. "I'm sorry, Brendan. You have leukaemia."

XOXO

You walk towards _Secondo_, Nikki's favourite Italian restaurant once you are done at the hospital.

You are putting on a brave face. You have already banned Niks from mentioning what was discussed. You can't take her grief ridden face and are still too numb to take it in the news. In fact, you hope that somehow you have veered into some strange alternate universe where what just happened can un-happen if only you can make your way back to your true reality.

You had once wished the same thing six years ago but you had still ended up where you are now; escaping the village you had grown fond of and leaving behind the person you needed and wanted the most.

You know that even if you were to miraculously meet Stephen again, he would never forgive you for leaving him the way you did. He would never understand that it was the only thing to do to keep him safe.

As you step into the restaurant with your friend food is the last thing on your mind. All you crave for now is your bed; comforting and firm. You also allow yourself to crave Stephen the way you do acutely once in a while when you least expect it. You crave the way he entangled himself around you as if parting was not an option. The way he whispered pointless words into your ears knowing that it wound you up as much as it cracked you up. The way he looked at you as if saying, 'I've got your number. I know you.' And it didn't freak you out towards the end. You crave his body, his smile, his honesty and openness. The way he trusted you in a way he never should have. The way he loved you.

The fool. You crave the way the little fool loved you.

The hard collision into your chest snaps you out of your reverie.

You look down and wonder whether cancer does strange things to your perception of reality because Stephen is standing right in front of you.

He looks up at you like a beautiful statue; still and silent. He hasn't changed as much as you might have expected. He is still slim but more defined under the white shirt he is wearing. His light blue eyes contrast with his summer tan and light brown hair cut into a buzz cut that is a surprisingly good fashion move not to mention fucking hot.

He is a direct contrast to how he looked that last time you saw him; ridiculously healthy as if he has spent the last few years drinking nutritional shakes and sleeping in an oxygen tank.

You know recently time has not been as kind on you.

"Sorry about that." You hear but it doesn't come from Stephen's lips. You look to the man by his side. Tall. Blond. Toned. Sun-kissed. Looks like a surfer who models on the side. The kind of guy who would make lesser men feel shit about themselves by being too picture perfect.

You know that he is fucking Stephen straight away. Their interaction is familiar and well oiled; the product of spending a lot of time together. You want to shake him and slice him up so that those moments can rub off onto you.

"Yeah. No problem." You say to this stranger automatically.

Nikki stares at Stephen as if trying to access a memory until who he is dawns on her, "Oh my God! You are-"

You interrupt her because you know that she has remembered the photo in your wallet and is about to reveal that you still keep him closer to your thoughts than is probably healthy.

Stephen looks at you like you are the devil incarnate. He can't get away from you quickly enough.

"Um, we are running late. Martin, let's go." He grabs his bloke's hand and drags him out of the restaurant without a backward glance even when you call out his name.

God knows what you expect him to do. Hopefully turn around and come back to you.

But he doesn't.

Nikki grabs your hand. "His name is Stephen?"

You nod. This day has gone from bad to worse to what the fuck. As in, what the fuck is Stephen doing in Dublin?

"What happened between you two?"


	4. The Reunion Martin

_**Six years ago...**_

5.30 am. Your alarm goes off. You turn to your boyfriend, who is still sleeping and try to wake him up with a blow job... it doesn't work so you prepare for work, get into your gym kit and brush your teeth.

6.00 am. You are at the gym. Cardio for thirty minutes. Abs and arms for thirty minutes. Shower.

7.30 am. You are at the office. The sign on your door reads 'Martín McCallister, CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGIST'. You down a double espresso, a large fruit smoothie and a bowl of muesli. Then you review the notes of your clients for the day and catch up with your personal assistant.

8.00 am. Trevor Jones. Old client. Eighteen. Solitary. Pyromaniac. Tendency to dissect dead birds. Impression- Sociopath. Potential social danger.

9.30 am. Jennifer Chimumbe. Old Client. Forty-one. Recently divorced following the revelation of her husband's serial adultery. Emotionally fragile. Self-esteem issues. Impression- Clinical depression.

Snack time- One apple. Cashew nuts.

11.00 am. Reverend John Lowell. New client. Sixty-two. Deep sexual infatuation with five members of his congregation. Not acted on feelings yet. Feelings of guilt and self-loathing. Virgin. Impression- Psychological repression.

12.30 pm. Lunch- Two grilled chicken breasts. Salad. Fruit smoothie. Block of cheddar cheese. Water.

13.00 pm. Chantelle Tweedle. Old client. Twenty-eight. In long term relationship. Has two young children with her regular partner. Escalating frequency of risqué sexual adventures with strangers and extravagant shopping sprees. Pressure of speech noted. Impression- Mania (? bipolar disorder)

It is now 14.40. You tap your pen on your desk impatiently waiting for your next client. He is late and you hate tardiness. You duck your head out of your office and talk to your receptionist, Lynn.

"Has he called to cancel?"

"No." She says. "He is ten minutes late. What do you want to do, Marty?"

You look at your watch. "He is a new. I'll give him five more minutes but then I'll have to cancel otherwise I'll be late for Emma."

Emma Forster is a young soap star who lives in Chester with her professional footballer boyfriend. She insists on being seen at home. She doesn't have anything particularly wrong with her but she likes having regular 'mental health maintenance sessions' because 'I had a messed up childhood, me'. You humour her because you suspect that she is a little lonely and the money is good.

It would be nice, however, if you didn't feel like she was trying to seduce you every time you went round what with her increasingly skimpy clothes and the bedroom eyes she gives you.

You walk back into your office and take a seat. You pick up the file in front of you and read the referral letter.

_Dear Dr McCallister,_

_I would be grateful for your review of this twenty year old man, who I suspect has severe post traumatic stress disorder, with a view to offering trauma-focussed cognitive behavioural therapy. _

_He went through a rather harrowing incident three months ago (find attached notes) and was an inpatient on our orthopaedic ward for a period of two weeks for fractures of both lower limbs and ribs. He also received neurological input for head injuries during this time._

_He has made a remarkable physical recovery but I found him to be somewhat withdrawn at today's outpatient follow-up visit. On direct questioning he admitted to re-experiencing the event "as if I am right there all over again" in the form of constant intrusive nightmares and flashbacks. The mere mention of aspects of the event during our appointment gave rise to a panic attack and anxiety the like I have not seen in some time. _

_While I am discharging him from an orthopaedic point of view, I am concerned that he has ongoing mental health problems that need addressing._

_Kind regards,_

_Mr. Khan_

You start reading the attached documentation of the traumatic event that led to the referral and your heart squeezes with genuine pain, distress and disgust.

"Fuck." You say as you continue to read.

The door opens and Lynn peeks her head in. She says,

"He's here... finally..." She rolls her eyes heaven-wards.

You nod at her. "Let him in."

You stand up as a young man that looks fragile enough to break like a twig walks into the office tentatively.

"Mr. Hay?" You confirm as your firm handshake meets his lighter sweatier one.

"Yes." His says softly and then clears his throat. "I-, uh, I'm s-s-sorry I am late. I-"

You take in his tense demeanour. A thin film of sweat coats his skin. He is visibly shaking and his eyes dart around the room as if trying to take in every detail of it all at once.

"It's okay." You say calmly and offer a reassuring smile. "No problem at all. Sit."

You point at the empty chair in front of you as you take your seat. You can't understand it but straight away you feel a need to protect him; guard him from the shit of the world.

"Thanks."

You can't help but take in the three inch long hair free scar that runs on the left back of his head. You know how he got that from the notes in his file. You wince at the thought.

"My name is Martin McCallister but I want you to call me Martin. I am a clinical psychologist."

"Okay." He says nervously, fidgeting with his nails.

"Mr Khan referred you to me because he felt that while you were well healed from your injuries, you still weren't over what happened to you. What do you make of that?"

His stare is wide eyed. "You're Scottish."

You nod, allowing him to avoid the subject for a second. "From Glasgow. Home of the fried Mars Bar!"

You smile at him again trying to put him at ease.

"Sounds horrible." He muses.

"Aye. It's not my thing, that's for sure." You say.

"No." He whispers and then blinks slowly.

You allow the silence to engulf you both. Over the years you have learnt to use silence in therapy. It can be very useful.

"I've never been to Glasgow." He says eventually.

"No?" You say. "Where are you from? I want to say... Manchester?"

He smirks. "Close. Salford."

You nod and let the silence descend once more. You hear the tick of the second hand of the wall clock.

"Just... I d-d-don't think you can h-h-help me." Stephen whispers. A track of silent tears falls down his face silently.

"Why?" You ask just as softly.

He wipes his cheeks to make room for a fresh wave of wetness. He looks even younger than his years, sitting there looking vulnerable. It tugs at your heartstrings and makes you dig your nails into your palm to stop yourself from engulfing him in your arms.

He just shakes his head.

"Stephen-"

"Ste." He corrects you sharply. "Don't ever call me Stephen."

His angry tone is a surprise.

"Okay. Ste." You say. "Psychotherapy is all about building our relationship, you and me and seeing whether communication, dialogue and behavioural change can help you return to the person you once were. If you want to continue seeing me, our relationship will build up over weeks. It is a therapeutic relationship built on trust. The way you are feeling now is a reaction to what you went through. It has just got out of hand. With time, we will be able to come up with ways to help you cope with and avoid those feelings."

He looks like a caged animal despite your most soothing voice so you pour him a glass of water and watch as he gulps it down quickly. Your eyes zero in on his trembling hands.

"You think so?" He asks.

"I know so." You reply and then consider him. "This is your first time out of your house for some time, isn't it?"

He stares at the floor and nods. "S-s-sorry."

"Is that why you were late?" You realise.

He nods again. "I get scared... being out."

"It couldn't have been easy stepping out like that." You think out loud. Of course this trip to see you must be a living nightmare for him. You are amazed he hasn't bolted yet.

Despite his extreme anxiety the young man in front of you has inner strength; strength he has forgotten he has.

And if you are honest with yourself you are attracted to him like a slow flame in the pit of your stomach but you try and pour water over it. You can't make it burn, not if you want to help him. You need to keep things strictly professional.

"I am very impressed that you showed up, Ste. Seriously."

"Thanks. I guess."

He is not relaxed enough to engage in therapy in this state. Your office environment is too distant to what he knows and getting here is probably fraught with too many emotional challenges for him.

"Ste, I think it would be better if we did the next few sessions closer to your house."

He relaxes a bit just by hearing those words of yours. "Um, yeah. Martin? Could you come to my place. Please? Just at first?"

He lets out a shaky breath.

"Yeah sure." Your eyes meet and yours soften. "No problem."


	5. The Reunion Nicola

_**Five + years ago...**_

You check your reflection in the window of the café in the centre of Dublin and toss your hair back before walking in. You push your sunglasses to the top of your head and look around.

'Looks like a male version of you, Nikki.' Paddy, your mate, had said when describing who you were about to meet.

'Thanks, Paddy,' you responded drily.

'It's a compliment. He's a smooth operator. Good-looking bloke. Nice dresser. Slick. Suave. You'll see what I mean.'

Not for the first time you wondered about Patrick in a 'which way does he swing' kind of way. On paper he is a pussy magnet, constantly surrounded by women. But you pride yourself on your gaydar and there are times when it goes through the roof around Paddy. When he talks about Brendan Brady it seems to alarm the way it does when you see a picture of Elton John.

"Nicola?"

You turn around in the café to see a tall, lean man in a sharp suit, open collar shirt and nice shoes. He has a moustache. Your first impression is that it's a misfire in an otherwise very nicely put together package.

This must be Brendan Brady.

You immediately see what Paddy meant about how Brendan is a male version of you with his blue eyes and dark hair. He has a primal edge about him that you have been said to have yourself. It attracts you to him instantly.

"Yes, but people call me Nicole or Nikki." You extend your arm out, palm down. "You must be Brendan."

"The one and only." He says, voice like nectar over gravel, as he takes your hand.

You order coffees and sit in a corner of the establishment.

"Paddy thought we might be good for each other." He says.

You smile and take a sip. "I guess we will soon find out."

He raises an eyebrow.

"So..." You say. "I hear that you co-own a successful club in England."

"We were doing alright. I have sold my half of the business now."

"Why?"

"Conflict with my business partner." He says slowly. His eyes look dead when he says that.

"Is that why you moved back home?" You ask.

A tick starts off in his cheek. He says nothing for a while, just stares at you. The blankness in his eyes is disconcerting.

"No." He finally offers.

There is something in how rigid his back suddenly goes and how stilted that word is that makes you know that this is uncomfortable subject matter.

"Family. That's why I came back." He says. "Two boys."

"Wife?"

"Ex."

"Sorry."

"I'm not."

You grin slowly and toss your hair to one side. "Well then neither am I."

You wink at him and normally that is enough to have the guys eating out of your hand but this man physically leans away from you and grips his cappuccino mug tighter before downing it in one. You frown. It is almost as if he is repulsed by your not so subtle flirting.

"You want to open a club." He says one hundred percent business.

You try to not feel rejected and reply. "Yes."

"Do you have any experience?"

"Some." You pause for effect. "My father is Vincenzo Manzoni so..."

He raises a surprised eyebrow. "Paddy did not mention that."

Your father is big money. He owns several businesses in Dublin from restaurants, clubs, laundrettes, property, even a nursing home or two. He is prolific. Over the years rumours have built up over where some of his money comes from but he has told you time and again,

'There will always be haters, Nicola. People who want to get you down. Prove them wrong.'

And you have. You have risen above what many men have assumed just by looking at you; that there is little between your ears. You studied business and law at university while working your way up in your dad's most successful nightclub so that by the time you graduated with first class honours, you were running it independently at the tender age of twenty-one. Now three years later and with responsibilities in two more of his businesses you are getting frustrated.

You want to set up your own business; prove to yourself that you can go it alone.

"I prefer not to be seen as daddy's little girl." You say.

You take out a file from your work bag, place it on the table and slide it over to him. "I think you'll find that my plan is flawless."

He grins as begins to read.

He looks at you after a few minutes. "You don't need me." He says clearly impressed.

"Oh, yes I do." You say, leaning back. "I need contacts and I need someone who can bring in the muscle if necessary."

He grins. "Well then. You have found him."

"Thought so."

XOXO

Just over two months later your dream is about to come true. You are a week away from opening _VIBE, _an exclusive Dublin nightclub_._

"Brendan!" You shout as you walk into the club or bombsight, as you call it. It still looks like a building site but you have beeen reassured that the work left to do is just 'cosmetic'.

"Good morning, daddy bear!" You sing song.

It is still fairly early. The workers should be coming in any minute to get started for the day but Bren and you get together every morning for a meeting to work out your schedule for the day.

"What?" Brendan's voice sounds distant; urgent and muffled. "Niks?"

You smile because only he and Declan call you that.

He is in the office so you head towards the back of the club.

You have two things on your agenda. Maybe three. Number one. You need his opinion on the lighting in the bathrooms. You want it to remain ambient, dark and intimate but the interior designer, Solante, (one word like Madonna) is arguing that it will make punters worry about cleanliness and hygiene. Number two. You need to have breakfast. You bought some buttery croissants and fresh filter coffee to share with Bren. Number three (this is the one you aren't sure is going to happen). You are going to see if he is finally going to say yes to going out for some dinner or a movie or something that resembles a date.

You approach the office and try the handle. It is locked. You frown.

"Just a second." You hear Brendan say.

A moment later one of the electricians, a slight young man with floppy light brown hair and clear piercing blue eyes steps out of the office looking flushed and flustered. He barely makes eye contact with you and rushes past while rubbing his lips with the back of his hand.

"'Scuse me." He mutters.

You frown at him and enter the office to find Brendan pouring over work papers and scribbling figures frantically with his left hand.

"I brought breakfast." You say and lift the pastry bag in your hands. Your brain tries to process what is going on.

"Sorry the door was locked." Bren says without looking up, "Tim wanted to know what we wanted to do about the lighting in the bathrooms."

You stare at him. "Who's Tim?"

He points at the door with his pen without looking up.

"Oh." You say. "Weird. That is what I wanted to ask you about."

"I think Solante is right. We have to keep the lighting bright but we can change the walls. Use warmer notes. Make it look like our lavs are dripping with opulence."

He is right so you nod. Why is he not looking at you? Like he has something to hide.

You look at the cluttered desk and spot something on its edge. You walk up to it and you eyes widen in shock as you pick it up.

It is an empty condom packet.

You both look at it until Brendan snatches it out of your hands and throws it in the bin. You stare at each other for a long awkward moment as you brain does the maths.

You turn towards the open door of the office where you crossed paths with the cute diminuitive electrician a minute ago and then back at Brendan.

He starts shaking his head in anticipation of what you are going to say; already denying it.

You whisper, feeling hurt, even though Brendan never led you on. Never flirted. Never touched you inappropriately. Never gave you the eye.

You should have known.

"You fucked him?" You ask crudely.

Brendan stands up and rounds the table, trying to reach out to you. "No."

"Liar." You say, with a torn voice.

You look at him. How could you have not seen it before? You, with your gaydar. Your faulty, useless gaydar.

Brendan is gay.

XOXO

After slinking away into a corner to lick your wounds for a few days, you approach him.

If anything Brendan is more embarrassed than you are. He is old school; one of those blokes that still has issues with their sexuality. Not in a 'total denial way'. He is more 'I am not going to London Pride or protesting for equal gay rights'. He doesn't advertise his sexuality or discuss it but he doesn't hide it either. You discover that it is no secret to anyone who knows him; his ex-wife, his sister, his children, Paddy.

When you approach him days after you find out you tell him that you are fine about it. That it is no big deal. That your disappointment came out of hoping that things might have developed romantically between you.

He accepts your hug and lays a big fat kiss on your forehead afterwards.

"Next time don't fuck our staff, yeah?" You say cheekily and you are surprised when he almost smiles and grunts back.

XOXO

Brendan has a type.

You notice it almost straight away. For one, you are in no doubt that he continues to fuck Tim the electrician right up until work at the club is finished, which is a couple of weeks after _VIBE_'s opening night.

Then Brendan breaks things off with him. You know because one day, a few weeks later, the distressed lad comes into the club dressed in regular clothes desperately asking one of our bartenders for Brendan. Brendan struts up to him and, with a venemous tongue and icy glare, tells him to fuck off and never come near him again. The icing on the cake is barring the kid from the club indefinitely.

You ask Brendan why he is so vicious but he shuts you down and tells you to mind your own business. You see a new side to him that day. A side you do not like at all.

Tim paves a path for others like him over the next few years. Young men all with similar characteristics; slim, brown-haired usually blue-eyed, cute, with a paradoxical mix of vulnerability and toughness.

They all meet a similar fate to the electrician; with an expiry date of between one day and one month.

You wonder whether it is a fetish of some sort for Brendan. Whatever it is doesn't leave him satisfied. It is almost as if he is searching for something every time he picks up one of these lads but doesn't find whatever it is he is looking for so he moves on.

XOXO

One day, maybe five or so months after meeting Brendan, you walk into his apartment, using his keys. It is incredible how quickly trust has built up between you. The plan is to watch a film together.

When you don't see him in the living room, you make your way to his bedroom.

He is sitting on his bed with an open parcel by his side. On it is a note with a simple message,

_Brendan,_

_All this is finally behind me._

_S_

Gripped in Brendan's hand and stuffed under his nose is a black item of clothing. He inhales the material and lets out a shaky breath. On closer inspection you see that it is a t-shirt. It looks far too small to fit him. _Chez-Chez_ is emblazoned on it and you could swear that there is stuff on it. Something congealed. You shudder as you think it might be blood. Not that Brendan seems to notice as he buries his face in it.

Wasn't his old club called _Chez-Chez_? That must be its uniform. You wonder who it belongs to.

Belonged to.

"Brendan." You say softly when he doesn't acknowledge your presence. He doesn't look up.

There is something else near the parcel. A plain gold crucifix.

You walk up to it, pick it up and inspect it.

"Leave it." He says. His tone is so laced with grief that you drop it into his open hand immediately. He kisses it gently.

"Bren, what's wrong?" You ask as you take in his blood shot eyes. You have never seen him this emotional before.

"Get out, Nicola." He hisses.

"But the cinema?" You say, and you know you sound lame.

He grabs your arm at the elbow firmly and drags you towards the front door flinging you out. Your pride is hurt more than you body when you land on your butt and the door slams shut.


	6. The Reunion Stephen 2

**_Present Day (Day 1)..._**

There is something that you do subconsciously when Martin treats you as if you are about to break. It is what you are doing now as he walks you back to the hotel you are staying at before he goes back to the conference for the conference's afternoon lectures. You act as if what happened at the restaurant and straight after didn't happen. Like you didn't just see _him_ after six years of nothing. Like you didn't freak out afterwards.

Like. You. Are. Absolutely. Fine.

"So I was thinking we could go out tonight." You say conversationally. "Like proper out since we are away and that. Maybe we could catch a quick bite then go clubbing or summat."

Martin frowns at you.

"Ste, you don't have to act brave in front of me." He says as you enter your hotel room. "Talk to me. Tell me how you are feeling."

You should be glad that he is concerned about you instead you feel smothered and resentful because his worry blows the lid on your 'cool customer' act.

"Honestly. I feel fine." You making a point of looking him straight in the eye. "I feel embarrassed maybe about freaking out at the restaurant. I overreacted. That's all."

You don't want to appear weak as if all these years with Martin have seen no improvement to your state of mind. You want to prove to him that you can stand on your own two feet and don't need to rely on him for your emotional health.

"Okay fine. If you are sure." He says sceptically, completely unconvinced. He looks at his watch. "We'll talk later, yeah? Got to go."

"Okay."

It's little gestures like walking you 'home' that make you feel such warm thoughts towards him. Martin is a gentleman. You have never been treated so well in your life. He touches his lips to yours then turns to leave.

You exhale when he is gone. You feel empty.

You fill the time by tidying up. Then you call your kids and speak with Amy. You check on the bistro. It is still standing.

When you get off the phone the silence is overwhelming and you feel a black cloud pass over you. A deep depression and anxiety. Feelings you haven't felt for many years. Something has triggered them. You try to suppress them; beating them down with happy memories of you and Martin, your children.

Your happy place.

You jump into the shower and scrub your skin raw under the hot jet of water. You get out and stride back into the room naked to stare at your reflection in the mirror. You barely register the coolness on your wet skin.

Your scars are still there, of course. A constant reminder. You run your hands over yourself feeling the raised tissue on your arms. Then you run your hand over your unblemished skin; your face, neck, chest, stomach. Your hips. Your fingers trace the edges of your wingspan tattoo while your mind fights against a memory of _him_ teasing it with _his_ tongue. Drawing it into his mouth slightly through suction before worrying it again with wet lips.

_'So fucking hot, Stephen_.' He says. You groan and push his head down towards your rock hard cock to use the skills he demonstrated on the tattoo there.

_'Please Brendan.'_ You groan and comb your fingers through his hair persuasively.

_His _short hair_._

_His_ head.

Wet.

No.

Not wet.

Bleeding with a massive gash at the back caused by a blunt blow to the skull. The worst headache in the world. The rapid fade of the world to black.

Only it is not _his_ head.

It is yours and you can't do anything about it. The blow is inevitable while you exist in this inescapable room. You try to open your eyes. Only when you do, it is still pitch black or have you gone blind? You try to move and can't so you try to scream and can't so you try to open your eyes again or are they open already? Your heart beats fast and you struggle to catch your breath. Your heart squeezes and you think it is going to stop or explode.

You press a hand into your chest firmly.

You try to open your eyes again and this time you are back in the hotel room in Dublin.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror. You are safe but you are panting as your flashback dies down slowly leaving you with a dull sense of pure terror. Tears run unchecked and your body trembles from the surge of adrenaline in your system. The goose pimples have nothing to do with cold and everything to do with fear.

You slowly walk up to the mirror until your nose is practically touching it.

You try not to look down at scars that sometimes act as reminders of what happened...

"It is all behind me." You chant to yourself in the mirror unconvincingly.

Then you breakdown into tears that feel like they are wretched from your very soul.

XOXO

When you wake up the open curtains of the hotel room reveal darkening skies and night lights. You hadn't realised that you had fallen asleep.

You look at the time. It is just after six pm. Martin should be coming back soon. You assume that he wants a night out in Temple Bar so you get dressed quickly in case he wants to get going straight away.

He walks in a few minutes later and kicks the door shut with his foot before dropping his bag to the floor.

He has a determined face on. A man on a mission.

"Hiya." You say and smile as you walk up to him to give him a kiss. "How was the rest of your day?"

He wordlessly looks down at you when you are toe to toe. His hand comes up to cup your face and he drags a thumb across your lower lip.

"Okay. Miss me?" He whispers. There is doubt in his eyes. Why?

You nod.

"Good." He says and leans in to lightly bite your lower lip before pushing you back into the bed.

_Good boy, Stephen._

You gasp in surprise. Martin looks at you intensely, travelling his eyes up and down your body in a manner that can only be described as predatory. You know his intent without him saying a word. You feel aroused as you lie sprawled on the bed fully clothed.

"No going out?" You whisper with a grin.

He shakes his head in response.

It is not normal for Martin to be sexually aggressive. Years of handling you and your tendency for skittishness have made him a gentle, considerate and tender lover. Amazing. Definitely. But certainly not ferocious, crude, dirty or wild.

Not that you mind this new edge. Far from it. It is nice not to be treated like an egg shell. He reminds you of...

"Don't touch yourself, Ste." You blush when you realise that you have pushed your legs apart, tucked your hand into your underwear and started jerking off. You ignore him and reach further back to that place where you know Martin will tease and tempt before eventually entering you; deliciously, decisively.

Satisfyingly.

"So that's how you want to play?" He growls.

_Yeah._

You stare up expectantly at him while rubbing over your hole. You insert a finger into yourself slowly and groan. You want the real thing. Now.

You watch in fascination as he strips in front of you. Martin is not self-conscious. There is nothing to be self-conscious about. He is beautiful. His bronzed skin. His virtually hairless toned chest. His sculpted body. His blond head of hair. His deep chocolate eyes that probe right into your soul. His thick rock hard dick that proudly juts skyward ready for take-off.

He is good in bed. Achingly good. Distractingly good. You need that distraction from the intrusive flashbacks, thoughts and memories that you have experienced today, that you thought were all but gone. You need reassurance that seeing _him_ at the Italian restaurant at lunchtime has not changed anything between you and Martin.

Martin pumps his cock, flicking it as if demonstrating its turgidity to you. You lick your lips as he climbs the bed to join you.

"Is this what's got you all excited?" He asks breathlessly as he jerks himself off; his dick tantalisingly close to your face.

"Yes." You sigh urgently as he lays on his back and rests his head on one arm in a pose that looks more relaxed than it is.

"Suck it then." He groans.

You feel a ripple of desire rush through you as you position yourself on your hands and knees still fully clothed. You give him a quick peck on the lips before running your tongue down his body, sucking and biting lightly until you get to his cock. His fingers comb through your hair as you grip the base of his dick with a hand and then lick its head paying particular attention to its underside where you know it causes Marty's toes to curl from the sensation. You spit on it, lubing it up and then take all of him into you, down your throat. You are good at this, giving head. You like doing it. It gives you a strange sense of power; something you learnt a while ago, in a different life. It makes you feel fucking hot and ready for more. Makes you want to get fucked.

Marty hisses when you bob you head up and down on him repeatedly, depriving yourself of air to get him off. After a while he moans loudly and pushes you off him suddenly. Your mouth is still wide open from deep-throating him and he feeds you three of his fingers while he takes deep calming breaths.

"Goddamn, Ste!" His light rumble of laughter is laced with surprise and disbelief. "Shit! Nearly came."

You feel a sense of satisfaction and wet his fingers using the same techniques you used on his dick. "Doesn't matter if you come. We have all night if we want."

He growls and pushes you away unceremoniously, then in one fluid motion he pulls your jeans and underwear off before tugging your shirt over your head. You are naked in no time.

You capture his face between your hands and kiss the hell out of him grabbing at him as if he is your lifeline. He is.

He manhandles you roughly until you end up straddling him and gazing down at him.

He digs his hands into your hips keeping you put. It is this possessive hold that make you think, for a brief second that maybe this unusual behaviour of Martin's is about more than the two of you. Maybe it is about your reaction at the restaurant and.._._ _him_ and... jealousy.

You wince slightly at the excessive pressure on your hip bones. You'll be bruised in the morning. Martin notices and immediately says, "Shit! You alright?"

_Barely touched, ye, Stephen. Thought ye liked it a little rough._

"Yeah. Great. Really." Your hands pin his down and you delve to trap his mouth with yours. You give in to a battle of tongues and lips and spit and a little teeth.

You grin at him and start grinding down against his rigid cock feeling an urgency build up in you for him to penetrate you.

When you pull away you keep your face short inches from his and whisper,

"Fuck me."

Martin doesn't need persuading.

He throws you onto your back like some Neanderthal. His body and the effortless power it can harness should scare you but you feel nothing but turned on.

You trust him.

He is your rock. Your rock would never hurt you.

His lips and hands are everywhere making your skin tingle so that it feels hypersensitive. He bites at your jaw line before sucking at the grove in your neck. His hands tease your nipples forcing you to come off the bed. You pull him into another kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist exposing your crack to his dick, wanting to forego any more foreplay in favour of some hardcore, bed breaking fucking.

That is what you want right now. A hard fuck that is so frantic that it blurs the boundaries of pleasure and pain.

You gyrate against him and feel his cock rub against your hole. You make a desperate keening sound and groan,

"Please."

Martin suddenly moves down your body and pushes your legs further up holding them there with his hands. Your eyes home in on his left hand and the symbol of commitment that you both carry on your fourth fingers.

The glimmer of his gold band is enough to distract you for a split second before his mouth and tongue descend on your puckered entrance and you close your eyes against the delicious mixture of rough and smooth wetness. He laps away turning you into putty. Your head rolls to one side and you suspect that you are actually salivating. When you feel his tongue piercing into you, you cry out unashamedly and start to jerk off.

"Good boy." He says thickly in his Glaswegian accent only you could have sworn it is superimposed with a low smooth Dublin drawl.

_Good boy, Stephen. Now relax._

Your eyes spring open but it is just Martin here with you.

You shake your head to clear it as he shuffles himself up closer to you between your spread-eagled legs. He grabs the bottle of lube and squirts some directly onto his dick. You subconsciously relax in response to him coating up, like a Pavlovian reaction; getting ready to receive him. You replace his hand with your own and stroke his cock a few times. You then use the lube that has transferred onto your fingers on your spit slicked hole while never taking your eyes off him.

You are ready.

Martin and you stopped using condoms during sex together two years ago. Some might say that it is always better safe than sorry but the reality is that you had been in a committed exclusive relationship for three years when you made the decision. For you, as a couple, it felt like the right thing to do after getting tested at the GUM clinic and laying down some ground rules of what you would do if either of you were to ever slip up and cheat so as not to endanger each other's health.

Your eyes remain open as he penetrates you slowly in one fluid move that ends with him buried to the hilt in you.

"Fuck." You drag out slack jawed as he pulls out almost totally only to plunge right back in again unhurriedly. "Yes, Marty!"

Like you said, Martin knows what he is doing with that dick of his. He starts off slowly, but then gradually picks up the pace, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he fills you up completely with each thrust. You claw at his back and pull him in at his buttocks encouraging him in deeper and faster still.

He switches it up; slowing down to make you go crazy with need then speeding up to make you see stars.

"You like that?" He asks frantically as his tongue whispers over your gasping open mouth.

You feel yourself let go and elevate to another dimension as he continues to fuck you.

You smooth your hands over him, feeling every contour and committing it to memory.

_His_ dark chest hair tapering into a treasure trail which feels surprisingly soft against you. _His_ strong arms with one marked by a large tattoo of a cross on his deltoid.

You open your eyes and tumble into a sea of blue; the bluest eyes you have ever seen. You reach up and open your mouth wide tangling your tongue with his, relishing the burn of his moustache against your cheeks and upper lip.

"Stephen." _He_ groans as he grabs hold of your leaking dick that is suddenly this close to exploding. "I said, do you like that?"

"Yes." You pant knowing that it never gets better than when you do this with him. "I love it."

"Good boy." _He_ says in his strong Dublin accent as he fists your cock in time with his steady deep pummelling.

You lick your lips and stare up at him trying to focus on his flushed face with pupils blown wide by lustful intent.

There is a hint of a smile on your face because you are about to say those three little words that used to make him lash out in anger and fear at first but gradually became words he grew to accept and maybe even look forward to.

You can't stop yourself from blurting them out because they are true and honest.

"I love you, Brendan."

There is silence and the second those words are out you recognise your mistake.

The fucking ceases; sex in stasis. The only sound comes from the night traffic several floors below.

You open your eyes and look at the person hovering over you, He remains deep in you; arms tense, eyes unwavering as they look at you in disbelief and hurt.

You have just experienced another flashback.

Sex with Martin superimposed over sex with _him_.

You are not in _Chez Chez_. There are no Al Green dulcet tones playing in the background. There are no blue eyes. There is no hairy chest or Irish twang. No tattoo of a cross. No moustache.

You are in a hotel room in Dublin and looking down at you is the pained, disappointed and devastated look of your Scottish-accented, tattoo-free, smooth-chested, blond haired, brown eyed...

Husband-to-be.


	7. The Reunion Warren 2

_**Six Years Ago...**_

As you drive through empty, narrow, winding country roads in the dead of night, you find yourself whistling along to that Motown song that was playing in the club a week ago when you caught Ste and Brendan in the act.

Soppy, schmaltzy shit.

There is a small voice in your head that tells you that maybe you are going too far with teaching Brendan a lesson.

_The young lad is not to blame. _

_Let Rat-boy go. _

_Get back at that Irish prick directly if you must._

_Maybe this isn't Brendan's doing, anyway. He made a pretty convincing show of seeming innocent in the whole money stealing fiasco._

But you persevere. You can be single-minded like that. Besides, you only plan to scare Ste a little bit, nothing to cause permanent scars. This... intervention has long term benefits for you. It will place you firmly in the winner's seat. King of the Jungle. Head of State. A man not to mess with. Ever. Some people, like Brendan, need to learn that the hard way. And what better way to hurt your archenemy than to threaten the one he loves.

Yeah.

Loves.

You saw it with your own two eyes and it goes both ways. Tache-man loves Rat-boy and vice versa.

Your jeep approaches the secluded abandoned barn that has been begging to be used for some time. There hasn't been any sign of human life for the past few miles so you are reassured that you won't get caught in a hurry. This is a corner of the Chester country-side that civilisation forgot.

You make a quick phone call.

"John. The parcel is about to be delivered. I need you to check in on it a couple of times a day starting tomorrow until further notice. Make sure it is watered and fed. Don't hurt it. Talk to you later."

You've worked with John before. He is a beast of a man but has a sensible head. Plus he owes you big time so what better way to repay a favour than to babysit for you. After all you can't make this trip out every day. People will notice.

You have told John what the deal is. Take care of the parcel. Don't harm the parcel. If the parcel acts out of line do only the necessary to get it back in line. No more and definitely nothing that will cause lasting damage. Once money comes through the parcel will be returned.

Simple.

You turn the headlights off and get out of the car. Gloves and Balaclava go back on.

You pop open the boot and look into it.

Rat-boy is surprisingly still as he lies on his side with his feet strapped together and his hands tied behind his back. A black cloth is stuffed in his mouth gagging him. Two others are wrapped around his head; one keeps the cloth in his mouth in place while the other blindfolds him. Christ, he looks like a child like that, curled up in a foetal position. You almost feel bad. Why isn't he moving?

You nudge him firmly and he groans. Thank fuck! He is no use to you dead. There is no leverage then.

He has developed a few scrapes and cuts from being knocked about during the journey. The corner of his mouth is salivating around the gag and he is trembling uncontrollably. Other than that he seems fine.

You immediately go for his pockets, remove his phone, turn it to silent and tuck it into your pocket then you pull him out of the trunk and throw him onto the ground. You reach to help him up onto his feet. That is when he begins to resist you. He jerks and twists, trying to blindly avoid your grip while his distressed muffled sounds filter through his gag.

You can see tears fall under his blindfold and his nose runs.

You feel like telling him to calm the fuck down but he would identify your voice in a heartbeat. He is going to harm himself if he is not careful, thrashing out like that. If he co-operates this stay in the barn should be only a little less pleasant than that youth hostel you stayed at in Prague all those years ago. And if his boyfriend pulls his finger out and pays up, Ste should be home in no time.

You take out your gun. You don't plan to use it but it is amazing how compliant people become when they feel the cold heavy metal pointing at them.

Ste is no exception. You place the barrel of the gun on his face and grin when he immediately goes stock still apart from short sharp scared breaths that flare his nostrils. He recognises it as a firearm.

_Good. That's more like it._

You move it over his cheek like a tender caress before pushing it sharply into his neck. You release its lock. His body visibly flinches and you hold back a laugh. You put the safety back on. You don't want an accident to happen.

He stays still as you carefully take off the rope around his legs and help him stand up. You use the end of the gun to silently direct him to the barn.

There is only one entry point into it; a heavy wooden double door with a large padlock on it which locks from the outside. You open it and lead him in.

It is ready for you. The set up is basic enough. Lots and lots of hay in a corner for Mr. Hay to sleep on. It practically occupies one side of the barn right up to its high ceiling. There is also a bucket for when natural calls, a chair, five big flasks of drinking water and tins of baked beans.

It could be worse.

You toss him into the chair and tie his hands to it before taking the gag out but keep his blindfold on.

He opens and closes his mouth a few times but is wise enough not to scream. He remembers the gun.

_Good kid._

You should go so you turn to leave.

"Why are you doing this?" Weasel face whispers with a shaky voice. "Who are you?"

You stop midstride and turn to face him. He looks around himself blindly.

"Please!" He says quietly then sniffs back tears. "Let me go!"

He pulls at his restraints.

"I think you've got the wrong person. I've done nothing wrong." He becomes frantic. If he keeps tugging at his wrists the way he is doing he is going to make them bleed. "I have children. Please."

"I promise I'll give you what I can." His head flops forward as if defeated. "I have savings. Not much... I-"

You begin to approach him again while he continues his negotiations.

"I won't tell anyone this happened if you just let me go now. Please."

You stand right in front of him. You aim the gun at a space just to the left of his chair and fire a shot. It startles him into silence. In fact, he whimpers and you see the seat of his black Chez Chez uniform pants darken.

The lad has gone and pissed himself.

Great. What a wuss.

You lean in close to his ear and place your index finger on your mouth then sound,

"Shhh."

You drag it out as you walk away from him again and out of the barn. You lock it and head to your car.

For some reason that Motown song comes back to mind and you whistle it as you drive home.

XOXO

The next day you feel a spring in your step as you take the stairs up to the first floor of the club two at a time.

You receive a message and check your phone.

_09.57. Saturday._

_Morning. Found parcel on the floor but still strapped to chair. It must have tried to escape and toppled over. Pissed itself. Think I might let it air dry. I'm no maid. It is watered but refuses to eat. Feisty little creature. Keep you posted. John._

"Morning, Foxy." You look up to see Brendan nursing a mug of tea and reading the morning paper while sitting on a sofa; the sofa that you saw him nailing Ste on over a week ago.

You smile. Plan A is in operation.

"Morning."

"That message seems to have got you in a good mood." He observes.

"You could say that." You say and put your phone away.

"You get laid, big man?" He asks in amusement. "Some girl thought, 'fuck it, I'm pished, he'll do.'"

"That's no way to speak about your mother." You reply smugly.

He points a finger at you. "Funny."

He goes back to his newspaper so you head to the office.

"By the way, big man, you sorted out your money problems yet?" He asks. "Found out the real person to harass?"

You stare at him and try to keep your voice even, while your blood boils inside. "Yeah. He doesn't know what's coming."

Brendan lifts his hand up and mocks fear. "Sounds like you're really going to make him pay."

"Yeah." You say briefly and then close the door to the office behind you.

Let the song and dance begin.

By lunchtime Pete arrives ready to watch the football game with Brendan. They don't invite you to partake.

They watch it on the widescreen television downstairs while knocking back pints, eating sandwiches and ribbing each other.

You watch them from a distance and muse over how they are best friends after what Brendan did to him. That car accident with tache-man driving resulted in his childhood friend becoming wheelchair dependent at the tender age of twenty. There must be magnetism to Brendan that draws people to him against their better judgement.

Brendan keeps checking his phone while watching the game. You sense his mood turn from light-hearted to heavy.

"Mate, if you check it one more time, I'm tossing it in the bin." Pete says.

"Look. I've got my eyeballs plastered to the screen, mate. Don't worry about it." Brendan drawls.

Pete grins and mocks jokingly, "Is the ball and chain not replying back to your texts? You are so under the thumb, Bren. Never thought I'd see the day."

You are a little surprised that Pete is obviously aware of the depth of the relationship between Ste and Brendan. It is more of an open secret than you had appreciated. Brendan seems to have come a long way from the closeted gay homophobe you knew.

Bren frowns while punching keys on his phone. "Says the man who went shopping for linen for a whole day with the missus last week instead of playing cards with the lads."

Pete laughs. "Hey, I don't deny that Amy has my balls in a jar but it's worth it. The woman's incredible. You, on the other hand, act like you aren't completely whipped with Ste when it's obvious you are."

Brendan takes a big gulp of his beer and then shrugs. "He always replies straight away. This is not normal."

"He probably doesn't want to disturb you while you are watching the game."

You reach into your jacket's inner pocket and retrieve Ste's phone. There are five new messages and one missed call.

Shit. You should be more on the ball than this. Brendan is already suspicious of his lover's silence. You check them in turn.

The first one is brief-

_08.31 am. From: Brendan_

_Morning. _

_x BB_

The second one-

_08.40 am. From: Brendan_

_My erection is missing you already. I've told it to calm the fuck down!_

_x BB_

The third one-

_10.30 am. From: Brendan_

_I figure you're okay. Just let me know you are for sure._

_BB_

The fourth one-

_11.15 am. From: Amy_

_Hey. Hope you are enjoying some me time. The kids are having a great time with dad at the park. I had a lie in! Happy days! See you on Monday. _

_Luv ya, _

_Ames_

The fifth one-

_13.55 pm. From: Brendan_

_Fuck's sake, Ste! This isn't funny. Give me a call as soon as you get this message._

_BB_

Brendan must have just sent that last message. You listen to the voice call.

"_Message left at 11.37 am... Stephen, I should be done with Pete and the game at around three o'clock. I know I said that we wouldn't be able to meet this weekend but, uh, I thought that I could come over later today. Call me when you get this."_

You can hear the edge of concern as an undercurrent to his voice. You don't understand it. Stephen doesn't even qualify as missing yet.

You look over at Brendan and Pete as they watch the football game; shouting at the referees and players, slapping their thighs at missed penalties, hugging each other when goals are scored and groaning at blatant dives from the opposing team.

You type into Stephen's phone.

_14.25 pm. To: Brendan_

_Hi Brendan. I'm fine. Honest. See you Monday._

_Stephen_

You read it back. No. The tone is wrong. You delete and re-write.

_14.27 pm. To: Brendan_

_Hiya. Sorry, Bren. My phone must have been on silent. I'm fine so don't worry. I'll see you on Monday._

_xxx S_

You press 'send' and a few seconds later Brendan's phone buzzes. He looks down at it.

"That your fella?" Pete asks without peeling his eyes off the telly.

Bren grunts.

"See, told you. He is probably just kicking back and enjoying some time without the kids."

"He sounds strange." Brendan says as he reads, punches a key on his phone and puts it to his ear.

"How can you tell? It's a message." Pete reasons.

"I'm calling him." Brendan says.

You look down at Stephen's phone and it blinks at you silently.

Fuck.

_Brendan Calling..._

You let it ring as you look at Brendan.

It goes to voicemail but Brendan doesn't leave a message. He looks at Pete.

"He isn't picking up."

"Give the guy a break, Bren."

"He just left me the message. Why wouldn't he pick up?"

Pete shrugs.

"I'm going to go over to his after this and just make sure he is okay."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You think fast. The plan has got to change. You need to move on to plan B.

You tip toe up the stairs and go to the club's office. You go the staff files and find Stephen's address. You then run out of the club using the fire exit and head towards his place.

XOXO

You turn the sound on Rat-boy's phone up as you approach his home. You assume that Brendan might try to ring him again and you want to hear the phone go when he does.

Breaking into Ste's council house is painfully easy. You leave his phone on the sofa in the living room and take a little tour of his home. It screams breadline. Old furniture. Old telly. Old clothes. Old kid's toys. But it is clean and there is a sense of house pride within the limits of the household's budget.

Ste's barman wages and Amy's teacher's assistant salary clearly do not afford comfortable living.

You walk into a room that you figure must be his. You raise an eyebrow when you look into his wardrobe. There are a few items of clothing in there that you recognise as Brendan's. A pair of his shoes is also there. On his bedside table are a group of three framed photos. One is a studio picture one of him, Amy and the two children. One is of him with his son Lucas on his back. That kid is a spitting image of his father. The last picture shouldn't be unexpected but it is. You pick it up and study it closely.

It is a photo of Brendan and Ste. It was clearly taken impromptu and you recognise the setting as the house's living room. Ste is straddling tache-man with his hands wrapped around his shoulders. Brendan looks shocked like Ste pounced on him a second before the photo and Ste looks unbelievably happy. You would put your money on Amy having taken the picture.

Stephen's phone rings in the living room. At the same time you hear keys in the front door before it opens. So Brendan has house keys. Go figure.

You grin. Plan B is in operation.

"Stephen?" You hear Brendan say as he walks in.

You creep out of Ste's room and quietly approach the living room. You watch as Brendan picks up Weasel face's ringing phone uncomprehendingly.

"What the fuck?" He whispers then with a sharp edge of concern, and raised voice, "Stephen!"

He looks around anxiously and sees you standing there.

"Hello, Brendan." You say with a wide grin.

"Warren?" He frowns and looks at the two phones in his hand then back at you. "Where's Stephen?"

"Not here that's for sure."

He pushes past you and makes quick work of checking all the rooms of the house with the efficiency of someone who clearly knows the property well.

"I said he's not here, Brendan."

He strides up to you, grabs you by the scruff of your neck and pushes you forcefully into a wall.

Brendan is strong; much stronger than he looks and he doesn't look like a pushover. A dash of fear rises up in you. You know that this man can kill. You have seen it firsthand. And the last man to meet his maker at the hands of this Irishman also tried to use Weasel face as collateral.

"What have you done with him?" He hisses, spit hitting your face.

"Nothing." You squeeze out through your partly compressed windpipe. "He is fine. And he'll remain that way if you play nice."

He looks at you in confusion then pushes off you. He jabs his finger in your direction while pacing,

"You better start talking, Foxy, before my patience wears thin."

You rub your neck and take a step away from him. "I don't think you are in a position to make demands. Stephen is my insurance policy."

He frowns.

"I want my £50,000 within the next 48 hours, Brendan. I get my money. You get your Stephen."

Brendan shouts, "I don't have your fucking money!"

"I don't care." It's true. At this point you just want to show him who's boss.

"What makes you think I won't just go to the police?" He threatens.

I smile. "So many reasons. Number one. He has only been gone a few hours. They wouldn't do anything. Number two. I know you killed Danny. I am sure the police would love to close that particular murder case and I might feel tempted to help them with some new evidence if you feel tempted to pay them a visit. Number three. You can tell them what you like. You have no evidence to back up your claims that I have done anything. Number four. You do anything funny and I'll pick a bone to break in Stephen's body. A big one."

He clenches his fists and looks down. You have backed him into a corner and he is looking for a way out.

When he looks at you, you are surprised by the emotion in his eyes.

"Please let him go." He says. "We can work something out. You and me. Leave Stephen out of it."

You tut at him. "If you do as you are told and show me the money within 48 hours, the next two days will be like a holiday for your boyfriend. Just be a good man and show me the money, Brendan."

"I don't want you to lay a finger on him. If he has so much as a scratch on him-"

"Any scratches, cuts, fractures-"

He winces.

"-Bruises, burns that Rat-boy receives will be a direct result of you fucking up. Do what you need to do and he will come back to you unharmed."

You walk up to him feeling the power surging through you. You pat his shoulder lightly.

"Understood?"

He glares at you and you see a redness and wetness to his eyes that you didn't appreciate a moment ago.

He nods slightly.

"Nice one, mate." You say.

With that you walk out of the house.


	8. The Reunion Brendan 2

_**Present Day (Day 1)...**_

You fall back into the chair behind the desk in the club's office and close your eyes. You could sleep for a week but you can't. You have a mound of paperwork to get through.

When you woke up this morning you had no way of knowing that your life would be turned upside down by lunchtime. With your leukaemia diagnosis and seeing Stephen after all these years looking like he had moved on with a male supermodel, you don't know what to think, what to do.

A part of you just wants to press rewind on your life to a time where everything was beginning to slot into place.

You know exactly when that was. You felt it on a night like so many other nights in the club you used to run; _Chez Chez. _You spent the night after the club had closed with Stephen. You take your mind back as you rest yourself in the chair...

XOXO

_**Six years ago...**_

Closing time is approaching and the punters are getting rowdy as booze and music take hold. Stephen is being jostled as he carries a crate of drinks through to the bar from the top of the stairs that leads to the cellar. He looks harassed and frazzled but when he sees you behind the bar his whole body seems to relax.

He brushes up against you while walking past and gives you a coy smile, eyeing you through his long lashes with a steady stare. Fucking provocative git. You aren't always sure whether he does it on purpose... the silent flirting.

Deliberate or not, it gets you every time. You stop him with a finger on his chest and lean into his ear.

"I want you to stay on. After." Your say. God, you sound desperate. Damn.

He gives you a knowing smile that should annoy you. "Yeah. Sure."

You look around you at the crowd. They aren't paying attention to you and Stephen. Nobody gives two shits about what you do with him. Not really. Even so, you feel slightly exposed.

Your sister grins at you from a corner of the dancefloor and winks. She thinks you can't stay away from Ste. That pisses you off. She would be right but there is a specific reason for asking him to stay back tonight.

Cheryl gave you the idea for what you are going to ask him this morning.

_"Bren, why can't you admit that he is your boyfriend? It's been two years and you are so adorable together when you think no one is looking! You should see yourself. I honestly don't know how Ste remains so patient with you. You owe him a big gesture, you know. Something romantic."_

You scowled at her because words like _romantic_ and _boyfriend _were like the sound nails make on a chalk board. Irritating and grating.

Besides, even she has to admit that you have made big steps in the right direction when it comes to being publically demonstrative with Stephen. You would never do this, for example, in the past; skim your fingers up Stephen's torso above the crate of beer bottles, tracking up towards his neck and chin until they leave his skin to settle on his forehead sweeping over it to push his hair up off his face.

His mouth opens to say something then closes again.

"Later." You say then walk away briskly before you do something stupid like kiss him. Here. In the middle of the club. In front of everyone.

The club finally closes for the night and eventually the two of you are left alone. You make your way back upstairs having locked the main doors. The minute you reach the landing he unbuttons his black uniform trousers and begins to take his _Chez Chez_ top off.

"No. Stay dressed." You say.

"Huh?" He looks at you questioningly.

It isn't like you to say 'no' to him getting naked but tonight you don't want to fuck... not straight away, anyway.

There are other things you like about Stephen. You respect him; his work ethic, aspirations, the love he has for his children and Amy. You admire his resilience, strength and determination. You find him funny. He is hot and sexy, highly fuckable.

He is challenging. A handful more often than not. You wouldn't have it any other way. He makes you feel alive with his passion.

You can't get enough of him.

So maybe Cheryl is right. Maybe you need to show him, let him know. Do a grand gesture.

"Is something wrong?" He asks as he smooths his t-shirt back over his slim torso self-consciously.

"No." You say. "I thought we could talk for a bit."

Why are you so nervous? You are a tough guy so man up!

"Talk?" He sounds confused. That fucking irresistible pout is out in full force. "You don't want to have sex?"

You march up to the bar, pick up a bottle of champagne and open it.

"I always want to fuck you, Stephen," you say. You pour the amber liquid into two champagne flutes before carrying them back and passing one to him.

He blushes which you find absurdly appealing given how uninhibited and dirty he can get in bed. Paradoxical shyness.

"_Sláinte_.**" **You take a big sip of your bubbly while looking at him. You ignore the fact that your hands are shaking.

Brendan Brady doesn't do nerves.

"Sit Stephen."

He does so immediately on one of the sofas and holds his glass tightly in his hands, looking up at you nervously. "You're scaring me, Bren."

"No need to be."

You walk to the club's sound system and put on some music. Al Green. Intimate. Timeless. Setting the mood. Speaking words that you can't make yourself say.

By the time you join Stephen back on the sofa he has downed his glass of alcohol. Dutch courage. He has no idea that you need it more than him right now.

His nose twitches.

"The bubbles are going up me nose, Bren!" He says rubbing it briskly.

Christ.

"Were you drinking on the job?" You ask suspiciously as you identify the signs of mild inebriation in his slightly lazy eyes. You need Stephen to be with it now.

"Just a vodka-coke to unwind... while clearing up. Double. Rhys gave it me." He says and leans in to kiss you softly. His hand touches your chest and strokes it lightly while his lips begin to trace a pattern on your neck. He leans in moulding to you, one of his legs drapes over yours. He bunches your shirt up un-tucking it from your waist.

He is trying it on. The sneaky fucker.

You grab his hand and push him away gently.

"Oh my God! You were being serious!" He groans in frustration. "About the sex thing!"

"Yeah." You say. You clear your throat to get rid of the slight shake in your voice. "I've been thinking..."

Stephen's face drops. "What?"

"Uh." You stare into his worried eyes. You don't want to sound like some love-sick over-attached puppy.

"Have I done something wrong?"

You frown. What gives him that idea?

You shake your head, "I was thinking about how Amy and the kids have moved in with Pete, playing happy families and what not..."

"It's sweet, innit?" He says with a small smile.

"It's something." You roll your eyes.

"Why do you bring it up?"

"I... Uh. You are all alone now... in that house. Must feel too big for you and, uh, your rent... it must be hard to cover."

Jesus, you are acting like a school kid about to ask a crush to the school dance.

"I was going to do more shifts here." He looks confused by the bead of sweat that is developing on your brow. "That's okay, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, course it is but then you wouldn't get to see your kids as much what with all those long days."

"Or I could get a housemate." He smiles broadly at his Eureka moment. "He could help with paying the bills."

"He?" You try to keep the jealousy out of your voice.

"Or she."

_No and no_, you think. You can see it already; Stephen living with this 'housemate'. He would obviously be a nice looking guy (they seem to collect themselves around Stephen) who would quickly fall into a comfortable pattern of playing house with Stephen; cooking dinner, having a laugh at some programme on the telly, going to the pub for drinks together. Then one day, he would make a move on Stephen and Stephen, taken in by his housemate's charm, would be powerless to resist. Fast forward to a brief chat between the two of you where Stephen would say how things weren't working for him and that maybe you needed to go your separate ways. Then he would walk off into the sunset, hand in hand with his housemate.

"Can't be sure with housemates, Stephen. Letting strangers into your home...risky business... what with your kids' visiting."

"Oh. Um. Yeah. I guess."

You cut to the chase. "Look. My point is that half your things are at my place and you spend more nights at my flat than you do at your place while still paying full rent on your own."

He looks visibly upset. You don't get why.

"I didn't think you minded." He looks down at his empty glass. "Are you saying that you don't want us to hang out as much?"

_What?_

"No! Booze killing yer grey matter?" You say. "I just think it makes more sense for you to flat share."

"But that is what I said already."

"_Flat share._" You emphasise as if speaking to someone remedial. "With me."

You hold your breath. Uncertainty creeps in. Not because you regret saying you want him to move in but because you worry he is going to say no. A long silence follows. It extends in front of you like a free fall without a safety net. You don't dare look at Stephen.

This feels like peeling your skin and bones away to leave your heart exposed for a beating if he so wishes.

Suddenly your arms are full of Stephen. He practically climbs you, snaking himself into your lap, straddling you on the sofa, while his arms curl themselves around your shoulders. His lips open against yours almost immediately with a moan that shoots right down to your groin and gets you hard instantly.

You kiss him hard; feeling him respond by creeping even closer to you while you fold him into you.

He pulls away out of breath.

"Wait! You have just asked me to move in, haven't you?" He is smiling like a loon.

You nod and you know you must be grinning like an idiot too. Jesus. You have issues.

"Then, yes! Definitely! I'll move in with you, Brendan." He gushes.

You stare at his animated face. He looks so happy that a part of you feels like bursting his bubble; telling him to rein it in and not get his hopes up because eventually you will fuck this up royally. It is what you do. Ask anyone who has been close to you in the past; Eileen, Vincent, Macca.

You don't warn him away though because you have come to need Stephen in your life. Perhaps it is selfish but you want him in a way that you have never wanted anyone before. You want him right there near you because his absence from your life is something you aren't prepared to deal with.

This... thing... you have with him has to stay, that's the bottom line, but that doesn't mean that things have turned pink and fluffy; roses at anniversaries and 'how was your day, dear.' That is not you. Never will be.

You want him so you practically bruise his mouth with yours with the ferocity of your kiss. You harness strength you didn't know you had to shuffle to the edge of the sofa with him still in your arms and stand up lifting him with you in the process.

He laughs in surprise when you lightly bite his lower pouty lip and he wraps his legs around your waist as your hands cup his buttocks to keep him in your hold. Then you settle him back into the sofa. He reaches up to you but you push him back with a firm hand on his chest and kneel between his spread-eagled legs. Wordlessly, you push his shirt up and run your hands over his defined if slight abdomen. He moans as you lick a path over his belly button and lower.

You tug him closer to you roughly by hooking your fingers into the tops of his trousers and tugging.

You undo his flies and push his underwear down freeing his already erect cock. It is beautiful; thick and firm. The girls in Stephen's life had been fucked by it. You can see how it might do a fine job of it but you can't see a time where you would ever indulge in it in _that_ way. It just isn't you but you love blowing Stephen. He is responsive, keen. Just looking at him makes his cock jerk. You read the heat in his eyes through the fan of lashes that cast a shadow on his cheekbones. He pushes his hips up off the sofa towards you and you grin, lopsidedly, at his urgency.

Your tongue begins a slow journey that starts at the base of his cock to its tip. He throws his head back and groans when you lap at him slowly, working him up to a point of frustration and horniness that would almost definitely lead to a bossy order soon.

"Brendan, suck it." He moans and then adds as an afterthought when you look up at his flushed face, "Please."

You go to town, blowing him until he is a whirl of twitchy body movements, indecipherable horny sounds and urgent encouragements. When you sense the point where he is getting close you stop. This is not how you want it to be tonight. You pull him onto his feet. Before Stephen knows what is what you drape him over the back of the sofa so that he is leaning forward, head down, arse up.

He quickly pushes his trousers down over his butt exposing it to you. You can't help but rub your hands over the round peachy mounds before licking over them. He groans then grabs an arse cheek of his, squeezing it while pushing back towards you; an invitation for you to get to it. You lightly run your thumb over his puckered entrance, just once, to tease.

He whimpers.

You stare down at him. Stephen is gagging for it; head bent over the sofa, long neck leading to a toned bronzed back with the black _Chez-Chez_ t-shirt bunched under his armpits, the slight flare of his hips and the round, firm swell of his arse as it stuck up and out in the air.

You fumble into your wallet and take out a condom. There is no time for foreplay here. You need to dive right in. Now. You undo your suit trousers and pull your cock out, tugging the sheath on quickly. You grab hold of his hips and thrust against him grazing your cock between his arse cheeks. All you need is lube and you are good to go.

Frustrating then that the bottle is in the office. You push away from him but he protests, "It's okay, Bren, just use spit."

Fuck. You nearly come hearing his desperation.

"Don't want to hurt you." You mutter. "And the john could break." You practically ran to fetch the stuff and are back in no time.

Lubed and ready, you push into him too quickly. Stephen gasps from the initial discomfort,

"Fuck, Bren!" He protests and pulls away from you before draping himself back onto the sofa and relaxing again. "Slower."

"Sorry." You whisper. You run your hands down his shoulders and smooth back before grabbing his hips and using them as an anchor to pull him back onto your cock with more control until you are completely buried in him.

"Oh my Go-" Stephen never finishes his sentence as you begin to thrust into him as if it is the last fuck of your life.

You keep the strokes long and deep and the pace merciless. You know that he can take it from those occasions when you hadn't hooked up for some time and both of you were 'climbing-up-the-wall-one-hundred-percent' up for it. Stephen is an animal in bed so you feel like you are the one keeping up during those times.

Tonight you reach a whole new level. The sofa edges away from you under the force of your plunges. Stephen has to grip the back of the sofa to keep his balance. You grab his wrists and hold them firmly against his back with one hand.

Yeah, this is rough sex and you both love it.

Stephen cranes over his shoulder to look at you with glazed eyes that fight to stay open. His pupils are dilated. His mouth is open, gasping. A thin film of sweat covers him. This is how he gets when he is turned on; like he is high on some drug.

You want him present with you so you bite his shoulder hard.

He snaps out of his lusty haze, immediately. "Fuck Bren, that hurt!"

"Barely touched, ye, Stephen. Thought ye liked it a little rough." You growl and kiss him over the bruised skin.

Suddenly you want to feel him; skin on skin, as much of him as you could. You strip out of your suit jacket and shirt. You push your trousers down then lean over him to press your chest flush against his back and wrap one hand around his narrow waist while the other curls around his rigid cock.

You stroke it firmly, hearing him gasp. "You like that?"

"Yeah, I love it." He whispers as he drags his fingers through your hair and pulls you down to a kiss while you rock your pelvis against him steadily.

"I love you, Brendan." He says.

You freeze.

He can't help himself. Stephen always gets like this; overemotional. He blurts those words out so easily and unselfconsciously especially in the last few months. You feel a strange jolt in the pit of your stomach. You want to shout at him to never say them again but you don't because they have an effect on you and your soul.

You feel wanted and needed in a way you never have before meeting Stephen.

Stephen loves you.

Why? What has possessed him to love someone as imperfect as you, someone shady who did him harm before doing him any good? Common sense should tell him that is a stupid thing to do; that this can never end well.

And what does he expect you to do with that information exactly? Declare your undying love for him?

You won't. Ever. What you feel for him is undefinable. A sense of loss when he isn't around. A feeling of comfort and calm when he is. A protectiveness that has no limits. A willingness to cross barriers that you have never crossed before. You feel like a putz sometimes around him. Like you are out of your depth, floundering, not knowing where you are headed because this is uncharted territory. You have never felt like this before for someone else. It makes you feel like an amateur when you have always felt like master and commander.

You don't say you love him because you don't know what love means.

You don't say you love him because you would be marking him with blood. Putting a stain on his existence. You are a parasite in his life, leeching off his feel good factor and buoying yourself up until you leave him a broken shell.

You don't say you love him because it would be opening a portal into a life that you aren't sure you are ready for.

You don't say you love him so his quiet 'I love you' floats between you hopefully strong enough for both of you.

You sense his vulnerability as he looks at you so you embrace him and in your mind you tell him that you think he is the best thing to happen to you in a long time; maybe ever.

But you don't say it.

You quietly order him to,

"Turn over, Stephen. Lie down."

He doesn't even hesitate.

He lies on his back on the sofa and wraps his legs around your waist. You discard the rest of your clothes and look down at him. He pulls you down to him with strong limbs.

"It's okay you know." He whispers with that small smile that tells you he can read your mind and hear your thoughts. "You and me. It's okay."

Shit. This guy is under your skin, running through your mind, tucked in your heart.

You penetrate him again; his eyes and mouth widening, dragging out seductive groan.

You fuck him slowly savouring everything about him; the sounds he makes, his look of abandon, the feel of him around you, tight, warm, deep, accommodating. You could stay in him forever.

You say that out loud at least. It slips out. You grab hold of his hips and he jerks his cock in time with your thrusts, licking his lips to wet them as his panting heats up.

When you cum it is hard. Your eyes snap shut quickly from the power of it. You unload into latex, spasming as you feel Stephen's internal muscles ripple around your still deeply buried cock as he cums at the same time. His sprays all over you and him. The aftershocks almost hurt, they are so violent.

"Fuck." You groan after you body finally begins to relax. You collapse onto him ungracefully and lazily comb through his sweat slicked hair pushing it off his face before resting your arms either side of him, idle. Your face is buried into the crook of his neck and you can see the rapid thud of his heart beat in that vein that is tantalising close to your mouth.

"Alright?" You mumble, not moving.

He nods.

"Yeah."

He runs the heels of his feet over your lower back and butt.

"So when do you want me to move in?"

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 1)...**_

"Dad?"

Your eyes spring open and you blink. You take a moment to get orientated.

You are in _VIBE_'s office at your desk. You must have nodded off after getting back to work after your hospital appointment and lunch with Nicola.

"You okay?"

You stare at your son, your first born, who is standing in the doorway.

"Hey Deccy."

He is helping out at the club during his summer break between his first and second year at University College Dublin. Nineteen now. You could swear you were changing his nappy, reading him bedside stories and kissing his boo-boos better just yesterday.

Your pride for him is unshakable. He looks like you, no doubt. Same colouring, tall, broadening shoulders and unusually deep voice. But his temperament is his mother's. He is a good kid. Sensitive. A carer. He is studying to be a vet. Loves animals. Owns a rescue dog that he pays more attention to than parents do their children. Vegetarian. Seeing the same girl he started seeing when he was in school despite good looks that would entitle him to easily play the field.

You love him with all your heart but you don't get him. You are different people.

Right now he is looking worried so you try to sound awake when you say, "What can I do you for, son?"

"Niks told me about this." He says with a frown.

You straighten up in your seat. Did Nikki spill your diagnosis to your son without your permission?

She. Is. Dead. Meat.

"It's nothing." You say defensively.

"Rubbish. You look knackered, old man. She told me that she has caught you sleeping at the desk a few times."

"That's what she told you?" You breathe a sigh of relief when Declan nods.

You look at the time. 16.18 o'clock. You have managed to kip for two hours. How is that possible?

"Neighbours are keeping me up at night." You say by way of an explanation. You haven't got the strength to tell him the truth right now. That is to come.

"Really?" He says doubtfully.

"Yeah."

"Fucking neighbours!" He grins deciding to believe you.

You smile too.

"I was wondering whether you wanted to come out tonight." He changes subject.

"You aren't working?"

"Night off. Niks said it was cool." He explains. "Basically, Freddie is playing at the _Foggy Dew_ in Temple Bar. I think you'll like it. He is doing an acoustic set so we are all going to support him."

"We?" You raise an eyebrow. You know Freddie. Good kid. Life long friend of your son's.

"Me. Me mates. Aoife."

"Your mother?"

Your son grins. "Nah. You know she can't stand pubs and anyway I think she is going to the theatre with Michael."

You grunt. "I have no patience for tuneless noise, son."

He rolls his eyes at you. He knows you well. You are cantankerous, sure. Abrasive, definitely.

"And what about Paraic?" You add.

"He is sleeping over at a friend's. Mum said she told you." He looks smugly at you. "And Niks said you can have the night off as well so you have no excuses."

He walks up to you and hands you a cheap looking flyer.

"Great." You mumble.

"Nine pm. It'll be a good _craic_, dad. You need to get out more." He pats you on your back before walking back to the door.

"I get out plenty, son." You lie. "Don't try to teach the master."

He winks at you knowing that he is getting under your skin. "Well then maybe the master could find himself a decent fella to settle down with in his old age. Someone to rub his feet at the end of a long day and take care of him so his son doesn't have to worry so much."

He throws you that lopsided smile of his that everyone says is a carbon copy of yours. Today it carries a tinge of sadness but then it is gone as he closes the door behind him after he leaves.


	9. The Reunion Martin 2

_**Five Years Ago...**_

"You didn't have to get up." You insist to your boyfriend, Toby, as he walks into the kitchen of the apartment you share.

You are dressed and busying yourself around the cooker.

He isn't but even just wearing an old pair of tracksuit bottoms, Toby is a sexy fucker.

Your looks are chalk and cheese. He is more 'Mediterranean', five-eight, compact with a neat gym-toned body and brooding dark good looks. You are more 'Aussie surfer', six-four, with the lithe athletic shape of a swimmer and fair hair.

Toby lifts his glasses off his nose enough to rub his eyes tiredly then lazily scratches his chest while breaking out into a yawn.

"I wanted to." He says sleepily and comes up to hug you from behind.

"Hey." You shrug out of his hold, "I'm holding a pan of boiling water."

"Sorry." He mumbles and stretches himself out before perching on a stool near you.

You suppress your guilt over the fact that you have been trying to avoid your boyfriend's touch recently.

"Got to get to work soon." You say and pour him a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." He says, takes a sip of his drink and looks at you uncertainly. "You've been working a lot harder recently, haven't you?"

xo

_**Five weeks earlier...**_

_It is the end of your therapy session. You say bye to Stephen._

_'Martin, I know you are dead busy and everything but I was wondering whether, um, you fancied a beer or something before you go.' Ste asks you with a shyness that you could mistake for mild flirtation._

_Yes, Ste. Fuck yes, you think. Instead you say,_

_'Sorry. Can't. It wouldn't be appropriate. You know what I mean?" _

_Therapist-patient conflict and all that._

_"Yeah. I guess."_

_"I'll see you next week though. Bye.' _

_You walk away briskly before you lose your resolve. _

xo

"Case load has been heavy." You tell Toby as you place six boiled eggs into the pan of water and granery bread in the toaster. You feel so guilty. Why are you feeling so guilty? You have nothing to feel guilty about.

"I've noticed. How are things going with the PTSD one? The abduction?"

You freeze mid-action and goose pimples come up on your arms. You have never mentioned Ste to Toby. How does he know?

xo

_**Four weeks earlier...**_

_'Hi.' Ste smiles coyly as you join him on his couch. He looks at you closely. 'How have you been?'_

_'Yeah, good.' You say. 'You?'_

_'Yeah.' He blushes. He clears his throat. 'I have been looking forward to our session and, uh, seeing you again.' _

_You swallow down the lump the forms in your throat at his words. 'Why?'_

_'Because you make me feel better. I think of you like a friend, sometimes. Is that okay?'_

_'We can't be friends, Ste.' You say, knowing it is essential to make your relationship clear. 'But I can be the person you confide in and can feel safe around and trust.'_

_Ste looks at you then and smiles. 'Okay.'_

xo

If this was five months ago you would be persuaded to coax Toby back into bed for a quickie before work but things have changed. Now when you close your eyes you picture blue eyes, high cheekbones, pouty lips and dirty blond hair not dark locks and a steady brown gaze.

How did that happen?

You know Toby thinks something is up. He has tried relentlessly to 'spice things up' in bed bringing third and fourth parties into the mix. You know it is because right at the beginning of your relationship you had told him that you wanted to keep things 'open' and he probably now thinks you have tired of him sexually. He is wrong. This has nothing to do with him.

You have changed. Grown. You are no longer the immature, committment-phobe that made that selfish decision for both of you years ago. This thing you feel for Ste goes beyond pure physical attraction.

"The abduction?" You say evasively. "Um-"

You clear your throat nervously. Lies and deception have never been your strong suits.

He points at the patient record on the kitchen table. "Stephen Hay. Twenty-one. Post traumatic stress disorder with severe avoidant behaviour and anxiety. Rape. Multiple injuries. Must be pretty fucked in the head to get technical."

You snatch up Ste's file and place it close to your chest. "Why were you looking at it?"

You are angry .

Toby gives you a confused smile. "You slipped up. You left it lying around last night so I thought I'd see what has had you so fascinated for the last few months."

xo

_**Three weeks earlier...**_

_You are five months into therapy._

_'Tell me what happened when Brendan came to see you at the hospital.' _

_After being found outside a barn in Chester, Ste spent time in intensive care and an orthopaedic ward._

_He clams up even though you have been leading up to this conversation for some time. _

_He drops his head to stare into his lap. 'Basically, he told me he didn't want me anymore.'_

_'Do you remember what he said?'_

_'Yes. He came into my room on the ward when I were asleep. His hand was touching me like this.' He indicates a stroking action down the side of his face. __'I opened my eyes and he was stood over me. He pulled his hand away like I were diseased or summat. I were surprised to see him because I had been in hospital like three weeks already and that were his first time to visit me.' _

_There is a quiver of upset in Ste's voice. 'Everybody kept saying that it were because he was too upset to see me in my state. But they were lying. I knew he just didn't want to know.'_

_'Did you ask him where he had been?'_

_He shakes his head. _

_'He looked tired, you know.' He whispers._

_You nod so he continues. _

_He speaks softly and deliberately. __'I said hi and he looked like he was going to throw up. I looked a right mess. I don't blame him. His hands were in fists like he was going to punch someone. He found me disgusting, Marty. He knew I was damaged goods after what that man did-' _

_He stops mid-sentence for a second to collect himself._

_'Bren didn't want me after that.' _

_His body shakes uncontrollably from the memory. _

_'Do you feel like what happened in that barn was your fault, Ste?'_

_'No.' He replies quickly. 'I'm not daft but sometimes I think that Brendan thinks that I allowed it to happen. And I didn't. I tried fighting. I did everything I could.'_

_He breaks down suddenly. Big gasps of breath are fractured by heavy sobs that wretch at your heart. Fat tears fall down his face._

_You pull him into your arms and whisper into his hair,_

_'I want you to hear me, Ste. What happened wasn't your fault. No one deserves that. Ever. The person who kidnapped you is a monster. Don't forget that.'_

_'Yeah. I-, I don't want to talk about it right now.' He whispers back. He sits up straight again and rubs his wet cheeks dry looking at you apologetically, 'Sorry.'_

_'It's okay. We'll revisit that some other time. Why don't we stick to Brendan's visit at the hospital?' _

_'Okay.' He takes a deep breath. 'He asked me if I was in pain. I told him no then I said I missed him. He told me to shut up. He was angry. He said I was an idiot for pining over him. He said he was done with me; that he didn't want what we had anymore. I asked him why he was saying words that hurt me when I was hurting already. I told him I loved him.'_

_'And what did he say?' You ask. _

_'That he didn't love me.' _

_Ste looks numb as if the emotions he felt nearly a year ago have exhausted him to a point where he doesn't have the energy to conjure them up anymore._

_'And how did that make you feel?' _

_He shakes his head. 'I was sure he was lying at first. He cared for me, Martin. I know he did. He had just asked me to move in with him like a week before.'_

_'It is sometimes difficult to accept when someone you love wants to leave.'_

_He nods. 'I told him I didn't want us to be over. That he couldn't leave me while I needed him. He couldn't be that cruel. I just wanted him to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay.'_

_'What did he do?'_

_'He told me that I didn't get it. That we could never work out and that he never wanted to see me again. I burst into tears because I was exhausted, confused, angry and hurt. I felt like my world was crashing down around me.'_

_'Break ups are difficult, Ste. Yours was even more so because of what you had to go through.'_

_'He kissed me before he went, Marty, like he didn't want to go. But he did after telling me not to bother trying to find him.'_

_Without thinking, you pull him into your arms once again. You want him to know that even if that twat of an ex left him, you are going to be there for him. _

_'If Brendan didn't see how much of a good thing you are then you are better off without him. I'm here now.'_

_He responds by clinging onto you as if never wanting to let you go. You take advantage of the proximity to inhale him and feel his contours as he moulds himself to you on his couch. You finally push him away gently, feeling guilty for taking carnal pleasure out of an embrace that was aimed to comfort. _

_That is when he leans in and lightly touches his lips to yours._

xo

"Ste's not gossip fodder, Toby." You say sharply. You don't want to talk to your boyfriend about Ste. It feels... wrong.

"Why are you so upset? We always talk about each other's clients. What's different about him?"

You stare at Toby and feel like he has you sussed. He is a brilliant psychiatrist but right now that is playing to your disadvantage.

"Nothing." You reply quickly. You shake your head and turn to lean back on the kitchen counter, gripping the edge with your hands.

Toby drinks his black coffee as he observes you closely trying to read your non-verbal language.

"You're seeing him today." He says.

"He has an appointment. Yes." You avoid eye contact.

"Still at his place?" Toby asks softly. He points at Ste's file. "I read that."

"Yeah. He has agoraphobia." You say.

"I'm guessing he has a long list of phobias related to his fear of being abducted again." Toby theorises. "Does he go out at all?"

"Not much. To the local shops on foot only. Sometimes to see his kids and their mother. They live five minutes away."

Toby watches you as you shakily peel the shells off the eggs and put them onto two plates with the toast.

"You are trembling." He says in a measured tone as you put his plate in front of him. "Why so nervous?"

You stare at him. "I'm not."

"Do you fancy him?"

Bam!

Just like that. Toby doesn't mince his words. If Ste was some guy you were thinking of hooking up with for a one time thing you would be honest. But it feels more than that so you lie,

"No."

After a pause that seems to last a lifetime your boyfriend laughs.

You look up at him as he stares at you with mirth in his eyes.

"What's so funny?" You ask. That is the thing with going out with a psychiatrist. You get psychoanalysed.

"Liar. You like him." He says. "His a client, Marty. Don't forget that and don't do anything stupid. You are experiencing countertransference. Hay is projecting the feelings he had for Brendan onto you and you, in turn, are picking up on those feelings and reciprocating them. You are subconsciously filling a void in his life. These aren't real emotions and you know it."

"I don't... I..." You shake your head. "Nothing has happened, Toby. I have made it clear to Ste that nothing will."

xo

_**Two weeks earlier...**_

_'Ste, about last time. It was wrong of me to hug you and it was also wrong of you to kiss me. It blurs our relationship. We need to keep our boundaries clear. Do you understand?'_

_'I liked it. The kiss, I mean. It didn't feel wrong. Plus that wasn't a real kiss.'_

_You swallow. You really want to find out what a 'real kiss' with Ste is like._

_This is you chance to tell him that you are taken since you know he would back off b__ut you don't._

_Instead you say,_

_"Still, it can't happen again."_

xo

"Marty, you either use your countertransference in therapy or you walk away." Toby says.

"You aren't jealous?" You say.

"Why? Should I be?" He says but his cup of coffee is shaking in his hands belying his words. The cool attitude is an act. "Do I have cause to be jealous?"

"No." You lie. You can't get Ste out of your head.

He reaches out his hand to you. "Good, because no other man matters, right?"

"Right."

"I love you."

"I love you, too." You say.

Toby smiles. He has lumped Ste in with the faceless men that you two have shared your bed with over the years.

Big mistake.

Ste is so much more.

"What time are you going to be home tonight?" He asks suddenly. "Do you want to do something? Movie? Meal out?"

"Yeah, maybe."

He tries a small tentative smile, "Maybe fuck me? Just you and me?"

"Yeah." You smile at him. You see a flash of what first attracted you to him. Toby is hot, smart, not possessive and self-assured.

"Definitely." You kiss him and things heat up quickly. You prise his hand from your groin and step away. You give him a quick peck. "Later."

"Okay."

You point at his plate and smile.

"Now eat."

XOXO

Your day goes past in a blur as you think over your conversation with Toby and your feelings for Ste. Over the last few weeks you have started to believe that what you felt for your client was real; a deep need to be part of his life. You thought it was love. But your boyfriend reckons it is a recognised psychological phenomenon which can happen between a therapist and his client.

Either way it is not healthy.

As you make your way to Stephen's house at the end of the day you make your mind up. Whether this is countertransference or love you have to walk away; for the sake of your relationship with your boyfriend and for Ste's mental recovery.

You grip the steering wheel of your car hard. You don't know how he is going to take your news. You feel nervous when you walk up the path that leads to his council house. You ring the door bell and wait. Normally he is at the door almost straight away as if he waits right next to it for your weekly arrival.

The routine is always the same,

- He calls out your name from the other side of the door, 'Martin?' and waits for you to say, 'Yes. It's me.'

- He checks that it is definitely you by looking through the peep hole.

- He cautiously opens the door with the latch still on and glances at you through the tiny open crack.

- He darts his eyes around to check there is no one lingering behind you with a look of measured fear.

- He says 'hey' and mumbles an apology for his checking behaviour claiming that he thinks he is getting better.

- He opens the door just enough to let you in.

- He shuts it quickly, double locks it and audibly sighs in relief as if grateful that the ordeal of letting me in is over.

But today is different. He opens the door straight away without checking and smiles at you.

"Hi." He pulls you into the house before closing it.

"Hi." You look around figuring that his kids must have been over to visit. Ste is always more upbeat after seeing them. They are like therapy. But their toys are neatly packed away and the kitchen sink is devoid of plastic crockery and cutlery suggesting he has been home alone.

His mood is unusually light. This looks like progress with a capital P. But sudden improvement is rare. It makes you suspicious.

You are worried.

"You seem in a good mood." You say.

He laughs, rubs a hand through his short hair in coy embarrassment and looks up at you through his frame of ridiculously long lashes. "I think I am."

He grabs your hand and drags you down the corridor that leads to the rest of the bungalow.

"What are you doing?" You ask, feeling you heart speed up as you are directed into a bedroom. His bedroom.

Fuck.

You need to tell him now before you change your mind.

"Ste." You start but he gently pushes you onto his bed. You sit rod straight on its edge.

"I woke up this morning and everything became clear to me." He says as he rummages through his wardrobe.

"Um, Ste. There is something I need to tell you..." You look around his bedroom. It is modest like the rest of his house but neat. The double bed has a firm mattress with a simple dark blue duvet covering it. His bedside table has two photos in frames on it; one of him with his kids and their mother and one with him and his son. You look into the bin next to the bed. There is another photo in a frame with a broken glass covering. You see Ste and Brendan in a pose that screams familiarity.

He has just binned a picture of him with Brendan. He catches where you are staring.

"I have decided that I need to put everything behind me." He says firmly.

"Huh?"

"Everything. What happened. I am moving on." His mood suddenly shifts from bright and breezy to sombre. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. A simple calming exercise.

"I thought that is what we were trying to do together." You say.

You look down at what he has got out of the wardrobe and placed on the bed next to you. A crucifix, a black crumpled t-shirt and a brown large envelope. You identify the logo on the t-shirt.

_Chez Chez._ That's the name of the club he used to work in before it changed its name and his ex sold his share.

You pick up the black garment and study it. As you grip it, a portion of it feels hardened as if starched. You fan it out with both your shaky hands and drop it immediately when you observe what is smeared over its front; congealed blood from its neck all the way down to the hem like a static waterfall.

"Fucking hell." You whisper after a sharp intake of breath. Stephen rushes to pick it up as you point at it. "Please don't tell me that this is the shirt you were wearing."

You feel a wave of nausea so acute that the bitter acid of your stomach contents tickle the back of your throat. You hold your hand to your mouth and dry retch as Ste carefully folds the t-shirt over and places it into the brown paper bag.

"Okay. I won't."

"That should be in police hands." You say numbly. "It's evidence."

"You know I wasn't wearing it when I was found."

Ste wasn't wearing anything when he was found. He looks at the crucifix for a moment before throwing it in too.

"Yeah." You manage to croak out. "Yeah. I know. Sorry."

Ste sits down next to you with the brown bag in his hands and stares ahead. There is a quiet strength about him. He is resolute.

He writes on a small slip of paper in a measured way not dissimilar to when a child is learning. Ste has dyslexia. It makes reading and writing a challenge.

You look at what's written on the paper,

_Brendan,_

_All this is behind me,_

_S_

He puts the paper in the parcel and seals it up.

His tone is matter of fact,

"So anyway. I was thinking about it and yeah, I get what you keep saying about needing to take things slow and not rush my progress or whatever but then I woke up today and thought, fuck it. I am tired of feeling crap, Martin. I am tired of jumping at my own shadow. I hate that stepping out into the garden or going round the shops is the worst thing possible. I feel like I can't breathe. Like I am going to die or something."

"You are getting better, Ste. It's just frustrating when you feel it isn't happening fast enough."

"It's not just that." He says as he turns to you.

You are transfixed. His direct blue gaze hits you.

You swallow back against an urge to maul him.

He takes your hands in his. His palms are sweaty. There is an unmistakable sexual undercurrent here as he rubs his thumb over the palm of your hand over and over again while looking at you steadily.

"Martin. I have been thinking," He says and then licks his lips nervously. "Like, for a bit."

You realise that Ste is probably about to declare his feelings for you. He honestly thinks that he cares for you but you know that Toby is right. He loved Brendan and he has transferred those feelings onto you.

"Ste, before you say anything, I need to tell-"

"I don't want you to be my therapist anymore."

You frown and look at him. "What?"

"It's the only option."

You are confused . _He_ is firing _you_? You never anticipated that. "Why?"

He smiles at you. "You seriously don't know? I think I have been really obvious over the last few weeks."

He curls a hand behind your neck and pulls you closer to him squashing the parcel between your bodies. His fingers comb through the short hairs at the back of your head as he stares at you with purpose.

"What are you doing, Ste?"

"I like your smile." He looks nervous, hot and shy all at once.

"What?"

His dilated pupils drop down to your mouth and he whispers,

"Since you are obviously dumber than I thought, I am making it obvious how I feel about you."

Your heart races as he kisses you softly. Your subconscious screams at you to pull away but you don't.

You succumb.

You go with your heart.

In an instant, you have your hands in Ste's hair, dragging over his back, pulling him in while your mouth attacks his in a desperate kiss that releases months of pent up frustration. Everything that you wondered about Ste is answered as his mouth parts and allows your tongue entry.

He is so fucking hot it is unreal; a great kisser and sexually responsive. His short hair looks spiky but is actually really soft. His back is strong and he is so slim that you can feel ribs through his t-shirt. It should cause alarm but there is robustness to Ste despite this.

You dare to reach a hand under his top and he doesn't pull away when you trace over his smooth skin.

Toby is a distant memory. The guilt will come later.

"Ste, are you sure about this?" You ask after a moment.

He gasps for breath through his spit-slicked lips.

"Yes." He sighs and pulls you to him again.

"I am not Brendan." You say firmly.

Ste's blue eyes look honestly at you. "I know you aren't. You are dependable and trustworthy. I like _you_, Martin."

That is all you need to hear because your desire for Ste is greater than your common sense that is telling you that what you are about to do is fucked up.

He strips down slowly in front of you to his underwear. He is breathing quickly. You detect a bit of apprehension and you know why. The scars on his scalp and his legs tell the story.

You stare at them and feel terrible for what he went through during his abduction; the thing he suffered through that makes you hesitant to fuck him.

How is he going to react? Will he freak out after what happened?

"Sorry." He says quietly and climbs the bed covering his legs from your view by tucking them under him. "They are horrible aren't they?"

"No. They aren't."

You hesitate.

You don't want to hurt him. If you play this wrong, move too fast, touch him the wrong way or something, you could seriously fuck him up in the head.

"We don't have to do this Ste. This is a big step."

"I want to." He says crawling to the edge of the bed in his boxers. He reaches out to you and begins to undo the buttons on your shirt. You take it off and he raises an eyebrow at your physique so you flex your pecks at him.

"Like that?" You ask with a cheeky grin.

He grins coyly. "Yeah."

You strip to your underwear. You are conscious of your frame compared to his. You are a heavyweight to his super featherweight. You don't want that to intimidate him so you sit down next to him and face him.

"I want you to tell me if I am going too fast, okay?"

He nods and lays a hand on your chest running a single finger down until it teases the top of your underwear. He kisses you and then self-consciously confesses what you already suspected,

"I haven't done this in months, so..."

You grab his hand in yours. "It's fine."

You are dry mouthed.

This almost feels like a first time and in some ways it is because it marks the beginning of a new chapter in both your lives.

Ste wraps his arms around your shoulders and kisses you again, soft and sensual. He tugs at you encouraging you to lie down with him until eventually you are on top of him. You explore him, kissing and sucking; teasing his nipples until he comes off the bed like a primed bow. He sighs and gasps a symphony of erotic sounds that make you instantly hard. Both his hands comb through the back of your hair as you take your lips south, over lightly tanned skin and a smattering of scanty fair chest hair. You dip your tongue into his belly button before taking a trip down his treasure trail towards his groin.

You are introduced to his tattoo which rests on his left hip; a bizarre incongruous design of a star with a wing either side. Against your better judgement you love it or maybe you love the man who owns it. You start to work your mouth over it but he grips your hair into a fist and pulls you off him.

"No. Not there." He whispers through closed eyes.

You are surprised at his reaction. His hand in your hair fucking hurts. You pull it away and your lips move away from his hip to kiss a trail over the waistband of his boxers, a warning of what you want to do next.

His breathing accelerates further and he holds both your hands in his as yours pull his underwear down. You are not sure if he is encouraging you or stopping you so you look up at his face. His eyes are still closed with his head thrown back.

"Okay?" You ask.

"Yeah." Ste sighs. "Definitely."

You run a soothing hand over his chest and down his abdomen. He groans in response so you tug his pants off him and toss them aside. His erect cock springs up in front of you, begging for attention.

His body is rigid with his legs clamped together. You gently kiss up from the inside of his knees upwards. He relaxes as you approach his groin again. Nothing like a bone melting blowjob to relax someone. You work his head with your tongue, worrying the underside of his well proportioned dick and tasting the precum in his slit. You lick him like a lollypop and then take him all into you, nice and slow, until you hope he starts craving more. He encourages you by slowly thrusting into you and groaning in pleasure.

You lap at his heavy balls, taking them each into your mouth until he moans. He parts his leg so that you can stuff your face against his groin and inhale his hot musky scent.

That's it. You need to fuck him. Now. You take the tilt in his pelvis up towards you and his now splayed legs as consent to proceed.

With little warning you push his legs apart further and up so that you get a view of his pink beautiful opening. You spit on your fingers and rub them against his hole, feeling the slipperiness and your rising anticipation.

You have made a mistake.

You have forgotten to be slow and gentle.

Ste freaks out.

"No!" He screams and pushes you away forcefully. "Get off me!"

You pull away in shock. He scampers away from you, jumping off the bed before you have time to make sense of what is going on.

When you see him pulling on his clothes quickly with trembling hands, you get it.

Shit. He must have had a flashback.

He runs out of the room and you follow him.

"Ste! Stop! I am not going to hurt you." You say as calmly and gently as possible while your heart races.

He turns round in the living room and looks back at you blankly. He lifts a halting arm out towards you. He is sweating. Flushed.

"Don't come any nearer, Marty." He says anxiously. "Seriously."

You stop where you are. You lift both hands up. "Okay. I won't. Just please calm down."

He grips his throat and looks like he is labouring to breathe. "I... can't..."

He is hyperventilating.

"I am not him, Ste. You are safe. I am not going to hurt you. Now please take some slow deep breaths."

He eventually does what you say and collapses into the sofa flopping his head back and closing his eyes. He is still shaking uncontrollably. "I had a flashback."

Like you thought. You shake your head and run your fingers through your hair in exasperation. "I knew this was a bad idea."

Ste says. "Maybe I am not ready yet."

"No." You agree. "But I'll get someone to help you. A therapist I trust."

He looks across the living room at you. "What about you?"

You smile. "I thought you fired me. Besides having your boyfriend as your therapist is a conflict of interest."

He frowns for a second before he gets it.

The smile he gives you is so powerful it makes you ignore the sharp stab of pain over the fact that you are going to hurt Toby tonight and tell him that things are over.

XOXO

It takes a further three months of gentle coaxing and encouragement to get to the point of anal penetration with Ste. You gradually build a trust between you that reduces Ste's skittishness and open him up until the day he silently walks you to bed and takes initiative to get you both naked.

You then fool around in a long hot session of foreplay that you have come to accept as the main event. He knows how to work your cock with his mouth and hands like nobody's business and you reciprocate in kind. But then Ste surprises you. He goes to his side table. Your brain nearly short-circuits when you see the condom and lube bottle in his hand.

He rips the packaging off, put it on you silently and squirt some lube on you. He pumps your cock a few times feeling the firm weight of it in his hands and sizing it up.

Over months you have supported him through 'fingering' exercises. You know that he is trying for you; seeing whether he can work himself up to allowing you to fuck him. He can get to three of his own fingers sliding in and out of him and shoot a load of spunk while you blow him at the same time.

But his hole is a no go zone for any part of your anatomy until today. He climbs on top of you as you lie flat on your back, straddling your hips.

He squirts some more lube onto his fingers and he carefully fingers himself getting himself ready. He flinches just slightly as he opens himself up for you.

You want to say something but you don't know what. You want nothing more than to fuck him but you are also worried that he will not maintain the look of ecstasy on his face when it is you trying to penetrate him.

You grit your teeth as his naked thighs encircle yours, his hand firmly holds the base of your cock and guides the tip of it to his hole.

You have to bite hard on your lower lip as you feel yourself enter him slowly. He stops once during his downward push onto you to exhale slowly and accept a kiss from you.

"I love you, Martin." He whispers for the first time to you.

Finally.

Finally you hear the words you have been craving from him probably since you met him.

You wrap him in your arms.

"I love you too." You said.

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

"I love you, Brendan."

Those were Ste's words to you, his fiancé, while you fucked him in your hotel room just a couple of hours ago. He said them while you were about to cum and declare what he knew already; that he was all you wanted, your everything.

But before you had a chance, Ste said he loved his spineless bastard of an ex while your dick was still buried deep in him.

What happened after was a blur. All you know is that you couldn't look at him. You had to get out of there.

You must have got up, cleaned up and got dressed, ignoring his apologies and claims that it was a mistake; that he only loved you.

Fuck that. His Freudian slip told you plenty about where his thoughts were when he was intimate with you.

'I'm going to Temple Bar.' You said as you grabbed your wallet and hotel key. 'Don't wait up.'

xo

"So that is how I ended up here." You slur while sitting at the bar of the Foggy Dew, a lively pub in the Temple Bar area of Dublin that promises live music tonight. You are almost 'fall over' drunk and yet you are still going strong with the shots. You are struggling to remember how you ended up meeting your companion who sits next to you in rapt interest.

He has told you a couple of times to call time on your drinking.

You have ignored him.

"Shit!" He says and takes a swig of the same beer he has been nursing for the last hour. "That's terrible!"

"Yeah." You say. You have just revealed what happened between you and Ste to a complete stranger. Something must have made you think it was okay to be open and honest with him but you can't remember what that is.

You take in his appearance. He is probably a student at the one of the local Universities. Trendy dresser. Expensive clothes designed to looked worn in. Cute, yes, in a ruffle-his-hair-and-pinch-his-cheek kind of way, but surely too young to offer you any constructive advice on what to do about Ste.

Still it is his company that has kept you from running back to your fiance over the last hour.

"Mate, I don't know what I'd do if my bloke called out some other guy's name while we were shagging." He takes another swig of his beer and adds, "Bummer."

You look at the line of empty shot glasses in front of you as you prop up the bar and indicate the barman to pour you another. You look at the time. You have been gone from the hotel for a total of three hours. Maybe you should go back. Talk to Ste.

"I think I'm going to get going." You say as you throw some notes on the bar to pay for your drinks once you have knocked back the one you are served. "Thanks for listening."

"Don't go." The student says and places his hand on your elbow. "Stay. I am going on stage in a minute for my set and I am a pretty awesome singer so."

"I've got to sort things out with Ste." You slur.

He grins at you. "Look, you can do no such thing in your state. You are pissed as a fart and Ste could do with stewing for a little longer after that slip of the tongue. What was he thinking. You are cute! And you can't leave me now anyway. My mates promised me they would come but it looks like they've all bailed out on me. How shit would it be if I had zero support in the audience? You owe me after I've being there for you!"

He gives you a cheeky grin.

You are nearly swayed by his argument when you hear someone shout,

"Oi, Freddie!"

So that is your confidant's name. Freddie turns to who is calling him. A small group of young men and women approach you and fist pump and hug your friendly stranger. One of the guys lays a tender kiss on Freddie's lips.

"Hey babe." Freddie says before wrapping an arm around the guy's waist. "About time too, people! I thought you weren't going to show."

"Who's your friend?" His boyfriend asks.

Freddie looks at you and raises an eyebrow. You smile and extend your hand for a handshake. "Martin. Hi. Drunk and alone."

They shake your hand in turn while Freddie makes introductions. "This is my boyfriend Dan and my best mate Brady and his girl, Aoife. Siobhan and Trotter. They are my best mates in the whole world."

"Aw, dude!" The guy Freddie called Brady says. "You are making me blush!" He mocks.

There is something familiar about him; like you have seen him before. He turns to you with an open smile and says,

"It's Declan. Freddie likes calling Aiden and me by our surnames for some reason."

"Oh." A rumble of uneasiness begins in the pit of your stomach. Declan Brady. He can't be related to the Brady you know, surely? That would be too much of a coincidence.

You have a brief chat where you establish that they are all childhood friends who are now students attending universities in and around Dublin.

Freddie gets summoned to the stage by the pub's owner.

"Um, so are ye going to stay?" Freddie asks you when you make a move to leave.

"No, your friends are here so-"

"Okay." He pulls you into a hug and whispers. "Hope things work out one way or the other with Ste."

You nod curtly. The group of friends are nice enough to wave bye to you as you make your way to the door. However, you stop before you leave and hide behind a tall house plant when you overhear them talking about you. You peek through the leaves.

"Fucking hell, Fredstar! We can always count on ye to chat up the hottest guy in town." One of the girls says.

"I wasn't chatting him up!" He says with a grin while pulling his boyfriend into a hug. "I got here two hours ago to get the set ready and sound check. When I was done I got bored until I spooted Martin all alone, drinking the bar dry and looking like the end of the world was nigh."

"Looking all broody and sexy!" Aoife says.

Freddie grins, "I was being nice, okay guys! The poor bloke was in a world of pain."

"What's his problem?" Declan asks. "Can't handle how hot he is on a daily basis?"

"Ha ha!" Freddie says drily, "Actually, it's relationship trouble, if ye must know. His bloke called out some ther blokes name during sex. Some seriously fucked up shit."

"Shit!" They all say in unison.

"That's messed up." Declan says shaking his head in shock.

"He's gay?" Siobhan asked in disappointment.

You will Freddie to not say another world. He nods in answer.

"Hey, Dec, is yer pa coming?" Aiden asks his friend.

You prick up your ears.

"Dunno." The tall young man with raven hair and blue eyes replies. Is he related to Brendan? His physical resemblance and name are convincing evidence. "Doubt it. He'll come up with some excuse, knowing him."

"Pity. Your dad is a silver fox, mate." Freddie sighs.

"That's me pa you are talking about!" Declan says with a grossed out expression.

"Freddie, I haven't got all day, mate! Let's get the show going." The pub owner shouts over at him impatiently.

"Coming. Soz." The student says, then to his boyfriend. "Tell Dec I'm right, Dan!"

Dan grins and addresses Declan. "He's right, Dec, Brendan Brady is one hot DILF!"

Your stomach bottoms out. You feel sick. That Declan kid is Brendan Brady's son.

You stumble into the dark night and pray that Freddie or Declan don't put two and two together and come up with a link between you, Ste and Brendan.

You eventually wave a taxi down and ask the driver to take you to a club with late opening hours.


	10. The Reunion Nicola 2

**_Amendment on 6/11/11._**

**_xo_**

_**Present Day (Day 2)...**_

You normally have a pretty good handle on your emotions but since going to St Vincent's with Brendan for his appointment, you can't seem to stop crying. Every now and then a cloud of sorrow creeps up on you unannounced and unanticipated and you feel yourself go weepy.

Like now, for example. It's lunchtime at _VIBE. _You have the radio tuned to a local station while you leaf through some invoices in the office. You check bills and sign papers until you come across Brendan's signature. So you stop to stare at it and think about the man behind the writing. And you think what a great friend he is to you... most of the time, like when he is not being obnoxious, rude, short or irritable. You think about how much you would miss him if he wasn't in your life anymore. You think about how, even though he is strong, he might lose his battle to cancer.

Your daddy bear.

You burst into tears. You put your oversized sunglasses on to cover red, swollen, wet eyes with mascara running down your cheeks. You pull at tissues from a scented family pack on the desk, blow your nose and dab under your glasses.

When the radio starts playing a song by Radiohead you hum along.

You are a half-eaten chocolate box away from a Bridget Jones cliché; only yours is the potential loss of a best friend not lover.

You sing along quietly with your head flung back against the headrest of the chair. Your eyes close.

"No alarms and no surprises. No alarms and no surprises. No alarms and no surprises, pleeeeease."

"Jesus, Nikki!"

Your eyes spring open.

"Declan!" You are embarrassed at being caught in the act of singing off-key. "Learn to knock will ye!"

"I thought you were being attacked!" He says with a grin.

"Fuck off." You grumble and compose yourself quickly, sitting up straight. You turn the radio off and stare at Brendan's son. "Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?"

"Heavy night with the missus and friends." He points at his eyewear. "What's your excuse?"

You think fast.

"Fashion baby." You say drily. You feel terrible that you are withholding Brendan's diagnosis from his family. You can't face his son right now so you say, "Look, sweetie, I was in the middle of-"

You point at the papers in front of you to convey your meaning.

"Yeah sure." He says tentatively. He hovers by the door. "It's just that-"

"Seriously, Dec." You say feeling tears pricking up again and look down at your papers. "Just go."

He hesitates, "But I really needed your advice about something, Niks. Something happened yesterday night. I don't know whether I should tell dad..."

You read the urgency and uncertainty in his voice so you stop thinking about yourself and pay the kid some attention.

"What is it?" You ask softly.

"You know Freddie right?"

You nod. Cute kid. Rich parents. Insanely bright. Law student. Generous to a fault. Comes round to the club sometimes to splash some serious cash with his boyfriend or mates.

Dec had asked you for the night off yesterday so that he could see Freddie play at the Foggy Dew.

"Yeah. How was the gig? Good?" You ask.

He nods. "Much better than yer version of that Radiohead song!"

"Cheeky."

He gives you a sly smile that reminds you of Bren's.

"So anyway, when we got to the pub Freddie was speaking to some guy, right. His name was Martin. Older. Like maybe a little older than you."

You are offended. "I'm only 29."

"Yeah." He misses your point. "He was Scottish I think. Drunk as shit. He left pretty much straight away. Then the Fredstar told us a story about him that blew my mind."

"What was it?"

He suddenly stands up straight in the doorway and looks behind him furtively.

"Is dad here?" He asks.

"No. He called this morning to say he wasn't coming in today. Why?"

Declan purposefully locks the door behind him and takes a seat in the chair opposite you.

"Do you believe in fate?" He whispers.

"Not really."

"Okay. Well maybe you will after you hear this. Freddie told me that the guy he was talking to, Martin, lives in Chester, right. But he is here for a psychological conference or something."

You vaguely remember that Brendan used to live not far from there.

"His has this boyfriend who he has been going out with for five years who has come along to keep him company. Apparently they travel everywhere together. Martin told Freddie how he loved his Mancunian accent. So then Martin apparently started rambling on about how much he loves his boyfriend, bla bla bla. How he couldn't believe what he had done to him."

You don't get where Dec is going with this story but you continue to listen to him.

"And the whole story comes out. Up until yesterday apparently everything was great between him and his fella. Then they had lunch at some Italian restaurant in town and bumped into Martin's boyfriend's ex. It was really awkward and his boyfriend acted weird afterwards. Fast forward to the end of the day when they were getting down and dirty back at the hotel room and the boyfriend basically said 'I love you' and then his ex's name. Like while they were..."

He makes a ring shape with the thumb and index finger of one hand and repeatedly inserts the index finger of his other hand through the created circle.

You stare blankly at him.

"Like as in they were having sex, Nikki, and Martin's boyfriend said he loved his ex!" He explains emphatically trying to get a reaction out of you.

"I know what you meant and it's a bummer it happened but why should I care?"

Dec leans back and folds his arms across his chest. "Because Martin told Freddie that his boyfriend was called Ste Hay. Freddie doesn't know Ste so he didn't make the connection but how many Mancunian Ste Hays that live in Chester are there?"

Your jaw drops at the mention of the name. That is the guy whose picture Brendan keeps on him at all times. The guy Brendan got twitched about when you tried talking about him.

"Ste was dad's ex-boyfriend when he lived in England..."

Ste was an actual boyfriend? You didn't think Brendan did the whole boyfriend thing. You rewind back to something he said moments ago. "Did you say they were at an Italian restaurant yesterday?"

Declan nods.

You collapse back into your chair. Wow.

"Brendan and I met them. We met them at_ Secondo_. Martin's good-looking, right? Tall, blond, nice body?"

"My dad saw Ste?" Declan practically jumps out of his seat ignoring your question.

You nod.

"How did they seem to you?"

"How do you mean?"

"Like, were they friendly to each other?"

You recall the tense short exchange. "No. Stephen couldn't get away fast enough."

He nods as if this clarifies something and your curiosity reaches new levels. This conversation generates more questions than it answers.

"Shit. Really?"

"Why. Was it an ugly break up?"

Declan looks at you steadily. "I'm guessing dad never told ye, did he? About Ste and what happened."

"Well, uh, no. I figured he was someone important in your dad's life though." You say weakly, suddenly feeling like you don't really know the person you call your best friend.

"Basically, Ste was like dad's only proper boyfriend ever. Well, proper for dad anyway. He worked with dad at _Chez Chez_, you know, the club dad part-owned in Hollyoaks. I liked him. Really sound guy. He knew how to handle dad which is saying something. I got to know him on a trip to Disney World like six years ago. Anyway, they had been going out on and off for about a year at that point but they were having problems."

"Like?"

"Dad trying to keep their relationship secret. Acting like he was ashamed to be gay... whatever... it's in the past now. Anyway, after that trip things got much better. They were solid, you know? Dad has never made a show of his relationship but he didn't deny it. He seemed quietly proud of it. Treated it as something to be cherished amongst friends and family anyway. For example, if dad called home and Ste happened to be with him he would go, 'Ste wants to chat with ye, Deccy but make it quick. I don't want ye two gossiping like a pair of girlies.' But I think he was still working on being comfortable around strangers. "

You lean across the desk. "Why did they break up?"

You get a horrible feeling from what you have gathered so far that the circumstances were catastrophic.

"I'm not sure. No one saw it coming. Least of all Ste. All I know is that it was not long after Ste was kidnapped."

"You what?" You say in shock.

Declan nods. "Yeah. It was a botched job. He went missing for three days in total. We still don't know who did it or why but when he was found he was badly hurt and unconscious. He fractured pretty much every bone in his body. It was horrible."

Your hand automatically covers your mouth. Fuck. Brendan never said.

"Anyway, mum, Paraic and I heard about what happened from Aunt Chez. Dad has never spoken about it. I called him like a few weeks after Ste was found to see how dad was holding up and because he hadn't called home at all. He sounded quiet. Empty.

I asked him how Ste was doing and he told me that it was none of my business and it wasn't his either anymore because he and Ste were through. He put the phone down in me when I tried to ask him more questions."

You are stunned into silence.

"Ste was walking home after a shift at the club when he was taken, Nikki. I think dad has always felt guilty about that because he had seen him just minutes earlier."

Your eyes widen in realisation. You go back five years to Brendan's bedroom, a brown parcel with a black emblazoned uniform t-shirt covered in congealed blood and an accompanying message.

_Brendan,_

_All this is behind me,_

_S_

Now you know that the S was for Stephen and that the meaning behind the statement was an effort to move on from the events surrounding his abduction and maybe even his emotional tie to Bren.

You now suspect, from Ste's reaction in the restaurant and what Declan has just told you happened between him and his boyfriend in their hotel room, that Ste must still be battling strong feelings for Brendan.

You also know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, from how Brendan holds onto a photo of Ste, how he clutched Ste's bloodied t-shirt to him five years ago and how he has incessantly gone for look-a-like hook-ups for as long as you have known him, that Brendan was not over his ex.

It, therefore, makes no obvious sense to you why they had broken things off.

"Why did you tell me this, Deccy?" You ask.

He hesitates, picking at his nails for a moment before saying, "The only time I have ever seen my dad really happy, other than when he is hanging out with Paddy and me, has been when he was with Ste. When Freddie told me what happened I thought... I don't know. Maybe..."

You give him a wry smile. "Your heart's in the last place, Dec, but what your dad had with Ste was a long time ago. You've got to be realistic. People change. Whatever Brendan and Ste had is gone now."

He nods slowly, "Yeah. I know you are right. I'm not saying they have to get back together. It's just that these last few weeks dad hasn't been himself. You've noticed, right? And he won't let me in so when I heard that Ste was in town I thought, like, maybe speaking to him would make him feel better or something."

You push your sunglasses up as you feel tears build up again. "Even Ste couldn't make him feel better right now, Deccy."

XOXO

You are run ragged at work. Since Brendan isn't working you also end up checking on _THE ELECTRIC,_ the other club you co-own in the evening. You see Paddy there but you also meet someone entirely unexpected in a twist of fate.

You decide that you need to tell Brendan and since he has not answered any of your phone calls during the day, you decide to nip round to his place on your way home. You worked a late shift so you get to his place in the dead of night and unlock the door to his apartment to let yourself in. You are about to call out his name but then think that he might be asleep. So you tiptoe through the open plan living area, spotting an empty whiskey bottle and two glasses on the coffee table.

Had he had company? If he had they were on a purely liquid diet.

You walk straight through the open door that leads to his bedroom to make sure he is okay. Your eyes immediately drift to his bed.

Brendan is lying there asleep looking peaceful in a way he never achieves when he is awake. A thin crisp white sheet just about covers his modesty. He is not alone. For a split second you are sure that the young man sharing his bed is Stephen but he isn't. He is definitely younger than Bren as is typical of his preference; maybe in his early twenties.

One of Brendan's arms is wrapped around the guy's waist pulling the stranger's slight smaller body into his own so that his back is flush against your friend's chest. Not an inch separates them from head to toe. Bren's face is stuffed into the guy's mousy blond hair which ruffles with every exhalation in his sleep.

Spooning.

Three discarded and tied condoms are on the floor around the bed and a tube of lube lies forgotten on the bed near their feet.

The picture in front of you tells a story.

Yesterday, Brendan told you he wasn't going to come in to work at the club. You had assumed it was so he could clear his head but clearly he had made another trip to _The George,_ one of Dublin's gay clubs, to pick up a Ste twink clone.

From the looks of things he and his companion hadn't moved far from the bed.

You quietly move out of the room and head to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water and think about your next move.

Your friend is hurting and dealing with what he is going through by fucking and drinking. This bottling up of his true emotions was no good for him but your are at a loss of what to do. If you tell his family what was going on or maybe get Ste to speak to him, Brendan will rip you to shreds and he will probably withdraw even further.

It is better to just be there for him and hope he comes to realise on his own that he can't go through the cancer battle alone.

You take your high heels and earrings off, walk over to the comfortable couch and lie down. You figure you might as well sleep over here tonight.


	11. The Reunion Stephen 3

_**Six years ago...**_

You collapse onto Brendan, post-coital; smearing cum between your bodies in the process. Your cum.

Your sweaty, flushed, naked body shudders through its last spasms as his cock remains buried in you. You have just enough energy to plant a sloppy kiss onto the rough stubble of his neck, a thank you to him for fucking you so good he had you calling his name out like a mantra while you rode him like a cowboy hard then slow then hard again.

You lose yourself when you are in throes of passion with him. He has a knack of being able to make you feel like you are having an out of body experience. At the same time he binds you to him while deep emotional and physical sensations curse through you.

You trace your hands over his arms and chest feeling his short soft body hair and firm muscles under your fingertips. You settle your head into the crook of his neck and feel your breathing and heart beat settle down.

You begin to lift yourself off his cock and your eyes fall shut under the weight of after-sex fatigue.

"What do you think you are doing?" Brendan murmurs.

You open an eye sluggishly when you feel his hands hold your hips in place. He pushes you back onto him so that his dick slides back into you, deep. You roll your hips onto him automatically.

Oops.

He is still hard. He hasn't cum yet. How inconsiderate of you. You rushed ahead there.

He pulls you into a kiss that serves to entice and cajole. It works. Even though you are tired and post orgasm you feel a new spark of excitement.

He mouths into your ear, "Kind of selfish, don't you think? Using me like a piece of meat then throwing me aside when you are done with me."

He nibbles at your ear lobe and growls seductively. It tickles so you push his face away then comb your hands through his hair.

You giggle.

"Couldn't help it though, could I?" You grin lazily, "Sorry."

"Actions speak louder than words." He rumbles low in his throat with a slight grin on his face then rolls you onto your back without pulling out so that he settles above you.

He looks down at you. "Show me how sorry you are, Stephen."

When he says your name like that you don't know what to do with yourself.

You help him in lifting your legs so that they settle on his shoulders. Then you settle back into the bed and give him a look. Gosh, you are horny again, already. You whisper, smiling,

"I'm very sorry, Brendan."

He smiles and starts to thrust into you. Immediately, your arms splay out either side of you grabbing onto the bedding and your toes curl as he hits the spot time and again rebuilding that delicious erotic tension in you. He repositions you a few times, pushing a pillow under your hips first then wrapping your legs around his waist. Finally, you bring your legs back up crossing your ankles together behind his neck.

You are bendy like that. You can even put them behind your own neck if the occasion calls for it. Today it doesn't.

You use the power in your ankles to pull Brendan down to you so that you can kiss him as deeply as he pummels into you.

"Fuck, Brendan!" You call out when you pull your lips away from him, overwhelmed. His hip gyrations are smooth and measured, long slides then sharp stabs into you so you feel every inch of him rubbing against your insides, making you squirm with need. His composure fades though, eventually. It is replaced by an animalistic drive where his breathing becomes laboured and harsh. His eyes shut with abandon and he bites into your shoulder.

He fucks you so hard that you feel yourself getting rammed up towards the headboard in his room with each push into you. You want to feel him deeper and harder so you tell him so breathlessly while tilting your pelvis up to him and widening you legs to give him better access. You don't mince your words.

Your language can get obscene like that.

You begin to stroke your rigid cock in time with the snap of his hips against you. You feel that initial tingle in your balls, arse and lower belly that signals the beginning of your orgasm. You make a weird low sound. You always feel embarrassed about it afterwards but can't help it when Brendan is unrelenting in his assault of your body.

You can get uninhibited like that.

"Don't cum yet." He growls as if sensing the shift in your body. He drags your hair off your forehead and pushes his mouth against yours once more. His tongue flickers against yours and he breathes you in. You open your mouth wide crushing him to you trying to get as much of Brendan into you as you can.

He bites on your lower lip as he emits a low moan. His fingers descend to grip your hips as he jerks.

He cums. Hard.

"Shit!" He drags out almost as if in pain. He pulls you to him, holding on as if you can keep him from imploding.

You groan out nonsensical sounds as you cum too. You feel your inner muscles milking Brendan's cock reflexively, trying to push him out. Both your hands grasp his buttocks pulling him to you not ready to let him go yet.

He is the first to move, pulling out carefully and disposing of the condom before falling back into the bed so that you lie side by side without touching.

You prop yourself up onto your elbow to look at him. Your index finger traces a path down his cooling body feeling its warm dampness from his exertion.

"That was amazing." You say honestly and hope he won't go cold on you just because you have said something vaguely emotional. He hasn't seemed to mind recently so.

He doesn't reply. His eyes remain fixed on a spot on the ceiling as his breathing evens out.

He looks over at you with such sincerity that you feel wobbly in the knees.

Then he quietly says, "Yeah. Yeah it was."

He turns his attention back to the spot on the ceiling but you feel brave enough to say more.

"It isn't just when we, you know, um, do it. I love being with you, Brendan, like when you joke with me or when we hang out at the club and talk. I like that I can tell you about my kids and my stresses because you understand what I'm going through. You know?"

He stares at you.

"You make me dead happy." You say.

His eyes widen as he scans your face. He whispers, "You are an emotional fecker, ain't you?"

You swallow against his insensitive remark. "No-"

"Stephen." He says and traces your lips picking up their moisture with a finger and silencing you. Then he puts the same finger on his bottom lip while he talks.

"Stay tonight."

You grin. "Yeah? You sure?"

He nods. "You have half your stuff here anyway." He says in exasperation.

You smile because that is an exaggeration. You have a toothbrush, a change of clothes, a pair of shoes, an electric razor (that he bought so that's not your fault) and some shower gel because Brendan is a soap and water man and you prefer richer scented liquid-derived bubbles.

You wrap a hand around his waist sidling up closer to him. He sighs heavily then wraps an arm over your shoulder.

You close your eyes as your feel yourself relax in his strong hold.

You mutter, "Can't believe I've got to work in the morning," before you feel yourself drifting off.

He nudges you a second later, "No, you don't. Your shift starts at one."

Shit. Oops. Why did you open your big mouth? "Yeah well. It's another job, innit. I need to earn more money now that Amy and the kids have moved in with Pete. No big deal."

"You already work all hours of the day." He argues.

"I really don't, Bren." You lie. You work long hours pretty much everyday.

"Why didn't you ask me about working more shifts at the club then?"

"I knew you'd think I was overworking if I did." You say. "And, anyway, I didn't want you to feel pressured into giving me more shifts just because we are together. It's fine. Really. I have to do this. I need to support my kids."

Brendan sits up suddenly, dislodging your arm from him. He pulls a sheet over himself. His voice is pensive when he says, "I know how it feels to want to do everything for your kids, Stephen. As a father you do what you need to do to provide."

"Yeah exactly."

He looks at you. "I'll think of something. Something to make things better for you and yours. I promise."

His gently kisses you. You like it when he gets like this, protective and caring. He lowers his guard a lot more around you now-a-days.

With a sense of peace and contentment you shuffle closer to him and drift off to sleep cocooned in his heat.

XOXO

_**One Month Later...**_

You wake up with a start. You shake from the cold.

It takes you a minute to come to your senses and figure out what's gone on. You are reminded by the soreness in your face, ribs and wrists and the realisation that you are blindfolded and strapped down to a chair.

You have been kidnapped.

You feel a rising sense of panic. It grows in you to a point where you are screaming at the top of your lungs and fighting your restraints so forcefully that you topple over and land on your side. There is an echo that makes you think that wherever you are must be a pretty large enclosed space.

The impact when you hit the hard ground should stop your efforts due to the pain it causes, but it spurs you on.

You don't know how long you keep it going but at some point your voice gets too hoarse to continue shouting and your wrists get too sore from the chafe of your skin against the straps.

You stop struggling, exhausted. You are getting nowhere. You need to change tact so you think about how you got to this point.

You finished at the club, said bye to Brendan and the other staff members, started walking home as normal and received a call from Brendan while you walked.

When you came off the phone you heard a sound behind you and spun round to see a dark looming figure advancing towards you with speed. You immediately recognised the danger. You figured you were about to be robbed. All you had on you were the keys to your house, a fiver, some loose change and your old beat up mobile phone.

This thief could have them all if he wanted as long as he left you alone. But he didn't ask you to empty your pockets or hand over your cash. Instead he gripped you in a tight painful hold. You tried to break free but you were smaller and weaker than him. When you harnessed every bit of energy you possessed to beat him off, he punched you in the ribs, winding you and then you saw a brilliant white cloth come up to your face.

Everything faded to black and your memory after that is sketchy; a bumpy ride in a car boot blindfolded, gagged and tied up, being hauled out and dumped onto gravelly ground, being strapped to a chair, a gunshot, pissing yourself in fear, being left alone without answers from your kidnapper, eventually falling asleep out of fatigue after attempting to escape.

Now you are awake and back to reality.

You try not to panic. You know it's not useful but things are not looking good. You don't know where you are, who took you, why they took you, how long they are taking you for, what they plan to do to you, how long has passed since you were taken, whether anybody you know has figured out that you are missing...

Shit.

And your ribs really fucking hurt; so much so that it hurts when you so much as breath deeply.

You are lying on your left side, still in the chair. You try to coax your sore wrists out of their shackles again. Every movement jars your ribs but doesn't get you anywhere near freedom.

You stop your actions when you hear a bolt unlocking then a door open.

"Well what have we here?"

The voice is male, deep and gruff. In your mind you picture a huge fucker of a man, probably with cauliflower ears, knocked out teeth and a tattoo on his neck and knuckles.

You automatically cower remembering the gun from earlier. There is something that makes you question whether this person is the same one who was with you earlier.

You try to make yourself small as you hear his footsteps approach you. The next second you find yourself hauled up, chair and all, into a sitting position. Your mental image of a burly guy can't be wrong. He lifts you as if you weigh as little as a feather.

"Jesus. You smell of piss." He says. "Pity. I'm not into water sports."

You stay quiet. You aren't even embarrassed about the fact. Who wouldn't pee themselves if they thought they were about to get shot? The feeling of the weapon against your face before you fell asleep made you lose bladder control.

You hear the sound of liquid being poured into a receptacle then a push of something solid against your lips.

"Drink." The stranger says.

You hesitate at first, wondering what he is offering to you but your thirst overrides your better judgement and you blindly lap at the liquid testing it. When you are satisfied that it is water you guzzle it all while he tips it into your mouth. When the fountain of liquid stops flowing you keep your mouth wide open, silently begging for more. He obliges with a low rumble of laughter.

"Thirsty, ey?" He mutters close to your face as you quickly drink a full second cup. "Alright, sexy, I've got to let the boss know what's up. Morning report, you know. Fuck! The reception is shit in here. Back in a sec. Don't go anywhere!"

He cackles at his own joke as you hear him walk away again.

So now you know a few new things from what he has said. One, it must be Saturday morning. Two, At least two people are involved in your kidnapping and you are certain he is not the same person who brought you to wherever you are right now. Three, you are either somewhere remote or somewhere really built up because the reception is bad. You are leaning towards remote because you can't hear the buzz of cosmopolitan life around you.

"Sorry about that, kid." The man's voice approaches you once again a few minutes later. "Let me introduce myself. My name is J, as in the letter. We are going to get along just fine as long as you behave yourself. You hear?"

You nod quickly.

"Speak." He orders.

"Yes." You croak.

"Good." There is amusement in his voice. "Now. How about some food?"

Your stomach is in knots. Food is the last thing on your mind. "No, thank you." You hesitate and then say, "You aren't the s-s-same guy who b-b-brought me here, are you?"

"You are a smart kid."

Nervously you say, "I t-told the other man that he t-t-took the wrong person. I d-don't think it is me he w-wanted."

"I can assure you he hasn't got the wrong person, Stephen Hay."

You start at the fact that he knows your name. Your chest is really hurting now, distractingly so.

"Then what does he want? I have like £400 savings in the bank. It was for my kids but-"

The man laughs loudly. "Thanks for the offer and everything, Lord Sugar, but no thanks."

"Who is he, the guy you are working with?" You ask and wince when you move in your chair and grind your broken ribs together.

"Now that would be telling. All you need to know is that this inconvenience should be over really soon provided everything goes to plan."

You breathing is shallow to reduce the pain in your chest. "I think I need to go to the hospital. My ribs."

He laughs at you. "Nice try. We are going nowhere. I think you and I will have a great time together Ste, I really do."

You feel tears fall and tell yourself silently to toughen up.

Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 1)...**_

_Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine_.

You are shaking uncontrollably.

You haven't moved from the bed since Martin stormed out an hour ago.

He hasn't called you and you haven't called him. You can't.

You feel ashamed.

You can't believe what you did to him.

'_I love you, Brendan.'_

That is what you said when you were making love with your fiancé and you can't take it back. You said it and that's that.

You hate that you have hurt Martin. You try to convince yourself that you only said those words because you had a flashback at a very inopportune moment and that it was your memory talking not how you actually feel.

Six years have passed. How can you feel love for a man that you haven't seen for that long and who left you the way he did?

It makes no sense.

You cover yourself over with the fine bed sheet of the king-sized hotel bed. When you move to lie on your side you feel the echo of fullness you felt when Martin was in you, fucking you, a short while ago. You savour that feeling because it reminds you him, the person you are supposed to care for passionately; that you do care for.

But thoughts of Martin keep getting interrupted by images of Brendan.

You toss and turn as you try to sort out your feelings. Do you go to the man that you know loves you completely and has been there for you for five beautiful years; your rock? Or do you seek out the man who you loved with every fibre of your being, who has made every relationship you have had before or since seem insignificant in comparison; your fire?

Your rock or your fire?

Martin or Brendan?

Maybe it is a futile question since six years ago the latter walked out of your life without a backwards glance and just a few moments ago the former did the same.


	12. The Reunion Warren 3

_**Nine Years Ago...**_

It is the day of your wedding, Christmas Day, 2008. The venue is a grand Georgian estate in Berkshire, your spouse-to-be's home county. It is the location for the service and reception as well as where you will stay tonight as newlyweds.

You know that half of those attending from your side are there for the spectacle; bad boy Warren Fox marrying the rich, posh and gorgeous ingénue Louise Summers in an extravagant ceremony.

You smile as you think about the bumpy ride that your relationship has gone through and how it finally smoothed out to lead you to today.

xo

You first met Louise in Hollyoaks. She was married to an old 'business' associate of yours, Sean Kennedy, a shady bugger with a dark heart and a history of criminal activities that made you look like Bambi. You wondered what a well-to-do girl like her was doing with scum-of-the-Earth like him.

You soon realised that she didn't really know the man she was married to. Sean appeared to be a loyal husband who supported his wife in her beauty salon business. But the truth was that he was a snake, sneakily stealing money from her to fund his 'street pharmacy' and using the salon as a pick-up joint, offering the attractive female clientele a thorough service that wasn't available on his wife's beauty treatment list.

It wasn't long before she found out about his cheating and stealing with the help of a dropped hint or two from you. She chucked him out and filed for divorce.

You counted to five, out of respect for your 'friend', before stepping into his shoes and dating her.

Things were brilliant. Louise was a blue-blood; high-maintenance and born with a silver spoon in her mouth She radiated a slightly aloof and untouchable air that you found fascinating.

Then Sean reappeared and, angered by your relationship to Louise, he threatened her with her life unless she handed over her business and savings to him. Out of fear she had nearly acquiesced until you had told her that you'd handle it. By handle it you meant rough him up so that he left her in peace. You never counted on getting so angry at him for daring to harm the woman that you loved that you couldn't stop your fists from repeatedly connecting with his face.

It was only when you were too exhausted to land another punch that you stopped long enough to take in his blood smeared disfigured face, motionless body and your aching hands.

In the woods, just outside Hollyoaks village, you dug a shallow grave under cover of twilight and buried your one time partner in crime.

You were surprised at how well you slept that night. The bastard was out of your lives.

Louise was safe.

You did it for her.

Over the coming months you told her how much you loved her.

You proposed to her and she said yes.

Your life was back on track.

xo

You turn to your best man, Ravi, in the large wood panelled reception room of the estate where the wedding ceremony is to take place.

You smile and say, "I need to see her, Rav."

"I thought you were supposed to consummate _after_ the ceremony!" Ravi gives you a cheeky grin and winks.

You smirk at him. Yeah. Funny.

You take out a royal blue, velvety, padded jewellery box from our inner pocket, open it and show your mate the necklace nestled within it. Some may call it over the top and extravagant but you know Lou will love it. "What do you think?"

"Yeah nice. Not my style, mate. I prefer earrings, me!" He grins broadly at his own joke.

"Yeah, well, I'll be back in two minutes." You say.

"Ey, hold on. You know it's bad luck to see the bride." He said.

You grin, "All our bad luck is behind us." You fight off an image of beating her ex-husband to death with your bare hands. "But fine. I'll just slip this under her pillow in our room."

"Fine. But you've got ten minutes. You don't want to be late to your own wedding!"

You nod with a grin and make your way up to your honeymoon suite. You push the door open and head straight for the bed.

Your smile fades when you find a gun under the pillow you intended to put the gift under.

You frown in confusion. Why the hell is there a firearm here in the bed that you are going to commemorate your first night as man and wife?

Did Louise put it there? It could only be her.

Why?

You start to shake uncontrollably.

It can't be. She wouldn't. She couldn't. Could she?

Was she intending to use it on you?

You pick it up and take the bullets out. You manage to pocket them and tuck the gun in the back of your trousers just as she walks in.

It is the first time you have seen her today. She looks stunning; a Raphaelite beauty with long dark loosely curled hair cascading down her back beyond her waist and a figure-hugging silver-white satin dress that grazes the floor as she walks towards you.

"What are you doing here? You aren't supposed to be here." She says. You see her eyes flit to the bed briefly. She looks nervous and caught off-guard.

You heart breaks because that small look to the bed confirms that she knows where the gun is.

"Nor are you. We aren't meant to be here until tonight." You say. You try and hide your upset as you approach her slowly.

"I-" She looks at the bed again. "I was just making sure everything was perfect for tonight."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Warren, look away, darling. Please." She says shyly lifting a delicate hand up to you. "You aren't supposed to see me until the ceremony."

"You don't believe in that myth, do you?" You say in a measured tone as you stop in front of her.

She shakes her head and swallows nervously. "No, but the ceremony is starting soon. We simply cannot keep mummy and daddy waiting."

She quickly turns to leave.

"Wait." You say and grab her wrist firmly.

She practically jumps out of her skin before turning round to face you.

"I got you something." You show her the necklace and take it out. "Turn around." You say and help her put it on while she lifts her hair up to expose her neck for you.

Her hand is trembling. You take in her smooth skin. You know every inch of it. You thought that you knew every inch of her but clearly you were wrong. She is a liar.

She wants you dead.

"Thank you." She whispers. Her smile doesn't reach her eyes when she touches the pendant. "It's beautiful."

You cock your head to one side and over-exaggerate an expression of concern. "Are you okay, Lou? You look nervous."

"No. Well, yeah. Maybe a little last minute nerves. It's normal, isn't it?" She says.

"Yeah. I guess." You take her hand in yours. You note how your tanned, rough, big and steady one contrasts with her delicate, alabaster and shaky one. "By the way, thank you for _my_ gift."

She frowns at you. "What gift?"

You smile coldly. "The one you left under the pillow for me. I'm guessing you didn't have time to wrap it."

You brandish the gun and her already pale skin becomes even paler as her eyes widen. She pulls away from you.

"It was for me, wasn't it?" You continue calmly.

You hope with all your heart that she will laugh at you dismissively, call you a 'silly sausage' and act as if what you are saying is not even worthy of comment because it is too ludicrous an accusation.

Instead guilt is carved into her face.

"I-, wha-, I mean, I-" She stammers as she backs away from you.

You begin to cry. You. The big bad Fox. You break down because your heart is breaking into a million pieces.

You throw the weapon on the floor near her feet and she stares at it in disbelief.

"Why?" You ask.

She shakes her head numbly. "I-"

"On our wedding day?" You say. The absurdity of it hits you. She wants to kill you on what is supposed to be the best day of your life. You begin to laugh maniacally.

"Warren?" She says fearfully, backing away further.

"Merry Christmas." You say and stop laughing suddenly. "Why?" You repeat. "Why now?"

She tears up. "You want to know why?"

You nod knowing that whatever she says will be a whole load of shit because you do not deserve this. Everything you have done while with her has been out of love for her.

"I'm dying to hear it." You sneer.

"Because I want it over!" She shouts. "I wasn't going to let you carry on screwing up my life, Warren!"

"I love you." You insist. "Everything I have done was for you."

"You don't _love_ anything." She says softly. "You _control_ it. I told myself that you killed Sean because you loved me. But you didn't. Open your eyes, Warren. You are no better than him."

You frown at her.

"I don't trust you because you don't love me." She says.

"What?"

"What about your business?"

You frown further. "My business?"

"I found out about the drug dealing. It is hard to miss a large brick of coke stashed away in the bottom of your wardrobe. And it was fine because I rationalised that you kept it all from me to protect me. But it planted a seed of doubt in my head." She taps at her temple repeatedly. "So I had you followed."

"You what?"

"You slept with Mandy."

It is your turn to go pale when she mentions her best friend.

"I tried to rationalise that too." She breaks down. "You murder my ex-husband. Fine. You deal drugs. Fine. But I couldn't justify the cheating in my mind. Why you would do that to me if you loved me?"

She starts to cry, snapping you out of your tears. She knew about your one night of infidelity, a lapse in judgement on your part; an abuse of opportunity when your will was weakened by alcohol. You weren't proud of yourself and, for what it was worth, it meant nothing.

"It meant nothing, Lou." You say. "I don't even know Mandy. You wanted to kill me because of that?"

"I wanted you out of my life for good just like Sean is. I wanted to put you behind me!"

For some reason she points at her belly when she says that. She wipes her tears. "You turned me into this, Warren. You made me paranoid, untrusting. You made me lose my best friend and my husband."

"What?"

She suddenly lunges for the gun and points it at you.

"If I pull the trigger it will all be over. Everything will be as it was." She touches her flat stomach as if she is soothing it after a big meal. Her eyes look mad and wild. "Everything will be okay again. Like a new beginning."

You look at her in shock as she pulls the trigger repeatedly.

But of course the gun doesn't fire.

You have the bullets in your pockets.

You stare at her shocked face and act before you have time to think.

Your face is red and streaming with tears as you drag her by her hair to the bed throwing her on it roughly.

She automatically clutches at her stomach again as if guarding it. "No. Warren, don't!"

You should have known then, what she means by that... but you don't think.

"No!" She screams as you pin her down with all your weight and then crash a soft feather-filled pillow onto her face. You push down firmly feeling the contours of her face through the texture of the pillow until her muffled sounds die out and her flailing limbs lose tone.

Big sorrowful wails wrench out of you when you finally lift the murder weapon off her to reveal her peaceful beautiful face. You pulled her into your arms.

"I loved you." You whisper and kiss her cheek softly.

It is only a few days later, when Mandy comes to console you over what everyone assums is her disappearance due to cold feet, that you find out what drove Louise to do what she did.

You lied to her. You cheated on her. She knew you were capable of murder.

"I'm sorry, Warren." Mandy says. "It must be so much harder knowing that she was going to have your kid as well."

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

You clear your head on a distant memory of a painful past.

"Hey boss. You've got mail." One of your waitresses tells you.

You take the plain white envelope that she hands over to you and recognise the writing on the front immediately. Your heart speeds up,

_Wayne Foxley_

_The SteakHouse_

_73 Bacon Street,_

_Boston, Massachusetts_

_U.S.A_

_02110_

"Thanks." You say as you turn it over.

"Letter from home?" She asks curiously in a strong Boston accent. She is a student at the local university who works with you to pay her way through 'school' as they call it here in the States.

"Something like that." You then say, "Lucy, I'll be in the office if you need. Lunch service should be starting in thirty. Call me when the first clients come through the door."

"Yeah. No problem, Wayne." She says as you spin on your heal.

You open the letter as soon as you get into the room, lock yourself in and sit down. It is from a contact of yours back in England. You had asked him to keep an eye on things back home.

Part of the reason was morbid fascination about what had happened since you left but also because you missed home. You wanted to sniff out how safe it might be for you to potentially travel back.

You look at the contents of the envelope. It is filled with cut-outs from magazines, tabloids and newspapers from the last six years.

They are all about Ste and Brendan. You scan through them quickly.

xo

- "The twenty year-old man found unconscious outside a barn in the Chester countryside has been identified as bartender Stephen Hay..."

- "Bartender Stephen Hay remains in a critical condition following his presumed abduction..."

- "KIDNAPPER STILL AT LARGE. CHESTER POLICE ARE OFFERING A REWARD FOR INFORMATION RELATED TO THE PRESUMED ABDUCTION OF STE HAY!..."

- "CHEZ-CHEZ- A NEW BEGINNING! The club changes hands once again after businessman Brendan Brady and Warren Fox relinquish hold of their shares at the height of its success within weeks of each other..."

- "'I JUST WANT TO MOVE ON!' THE TEARFUL PLEA OF STEPHEN HAY TO THE PRESS ON THE ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF HIS ABDUCTION..."

- "_VIBE_ HAS ARRIVED! THE NEW DUBLIN CLUB PROMISES A TRENDY, HIGH END, EXCLUSIVE, WORLD CLASS NIGHT OUT FOR THE DECERNING CLUBBER..."

- "YOUNG BUSINESSMAN STE HAY SAYS, 'LUCK, LOVE AND HARD LABOUR HAVE GOT ME HERE' AT THE OPENING OF HIS BISTRO, _PECKISH!_ ON CHESTER'S HIGH STREET..."

- "DUBLIN'S BUSINESS PEOPLE. PROFILE NUMBER 6- BRENDAN BRADY. CO-OWNER OF _VIBE_ AND_ THE ELECTRIC_; RAKISH, SMART AND RICH!..."

- "_PECKISH!_- VOUCHER FOR ONE TAKE AWAY LUNCH MEAL DEAL- HOMEMADE SANDWICH, FRESH FRUIT JUICE AND CUPCAKE FOR £6! ON CHESTER HIGH STREET..."

- "_VIBE_- FIVE YEARS ON AND THE DUBLIN CLUB IS STILL THE PLACE TO BE SEEN..."

xo

_Haven't they done well for themselves_, you think, with barely suppressed anger. Both Ste and Brendan have businesses that seem to be thriving.

You are resentful towards Brendan in particular. He has ruined your life and yet he is untouched and unscathed. He stole your money and after the incident, six years ago, you still haven't got your £50,000 back. Instead, you became a potentially wanted man and you had no option but to flee the country.

You look at an article. It is from a local Dublin tabloid from a week ago called _The Dublin Buzz_...

xo

MAKE YOUR MIND UP, MR BRADY! BUSINESSMAN BRENDAN BRADY HAS LUNCH WITH A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMAN ONE DAY THEN SPENDS THE NEXT NIGHT WITH A STRIKING YOUNG MAN!

_by Dermott Shepherd_

He is at it again, folks! Forty year-old Brendan Brady was caught by_ The Dublin Buzz _doing what he does best, swinging both ways... and staying mum about it. It raises new speculation on his sexuality.

At lunchtime two days ago, Brady was spotted at _Secondo_, an Italian restaurant in the heart of the city, having lunch with beautiful vixen and business woman, Nicola Manzoni, who happens to be the co-owner of his clubs _VIBE _and _The ELECTRIC._ The Irish beauty is also believed to be his on and off girlfriend. _The_ _Buzz_ can confirm that they appeared typically tactile and close as they tucked into their meals. With _tiramisu_ and _pannacotta_ desserts polished off, the couple headed back to their club.

Yesterday evening, Brady made his way to _The George_, one of Dublin's gay bars. He emerged at the end of the night with a striking looking young unnamed man by his side!

This is not a first. Over the years, Brady has occasionally been spotted exiting the club with male company but has never publically acknowledged his sexuality.

When _The Buzz_ asked Mr. Brady for comments on his current relationship status, he declined using language that cannot be repeated in print.

xo

You smirk at the article. So Tache-man moved back to his hometown not long after the kidnapping incident, huh. By the looks of things he and Ste split up.

What a shame, you think sarcastically. Guess their 'love' wasn't strong enough to withstand the event.

The two men must have realised that there was no such thing as 'true love'. Not in the selfless, unadulterated, wide-eyed way romantics think about it.

You learnt this the hard way nine years ago. Love crushes you. It is toxic and destructive. There is no place for it in your life.

So why do you feel shit right now as your brain takes you back to a time where you would look into Louise's hazel almond shaped eyes. You remember her laugh which was lighter than a spring breeze, toned legs that went on forever and a sense of peace that you had felt only when with her?

You rub your eyes and admonish your sentimentality.

You move onto the next article.

It is about Ste.

You are surprised that your hands are trembling as you scan over it. Guilt. That's the emotion. You are a hard man but strong subconscious feelings are hard to suppress and when you think about the state that Ste was in at the end of the kidnapping your stomach flips.

You were sure he was dead.

The paper you are looking at is a local publication, the _Chester Times'_ life and leisure section. It went to print a few months ago...

xo

"CHESHIRE EATERY OF THE MONTH- _PECKISH! BISTRO IN CHESTER _

_by Michaela McQueen._

_PECKISH!_ is a find. It opened two years ago and has developed a strong reputation for delivering high quality affordable food in a friendly environment. Tucked away between a large international coffeehouse and phone shop on Chester's high street, it stands out by not trying to. The decor is understated, a modern twist on country chic. The staff consists of Stephen Hay, chef and owner, a sous-chef, his good friend Amy Hamill and her husband as well as four full-time well trained waitressing staff.

This all creates a great first impression but the true revelation is the food. The menu consists of dishes that seamlessly blend traditional British and mainland European cuisine using local ingredients.

Upon entry I am ushered to a table by a waitress with a sense of hospitality that is a signature of Cheshire's. I start with the goat's cheese & dill cheesecake on oat base, red pepper sauce, wild rocket and herb oil. I then indulge in my main course, a delicious and succulent loin of Cheshire venison, potato cake, pea puree, red cherry coulis, cherry compote and salted crispy onions.

My dessert is a cheeky and playful take on Manchester tart. For this, I am joined by Stephen Hay himself who tucks into his own pudding, dressed in chef's whites. It is the end of lunchtime service and while appearing tired there is repressed energy charging out of the chef.

'It's me favourite.' He confesses with a huge grin as he tucks into his tart with an appetite that is unexpected given his slight frame. Hay speaks with an undiluted Mancunian accent despite moving to Cheshire ten years ago.

At twenty-six years of age chef and owner Hay has arrived. His quiet confidence, determination and vision have got him to where he is now.

When I ask him how he raised the capital to set up his business, he vaguely informs me that it was inheritance from a deceased relative; an estranged sister of his mother's.

'I never even met her! Didn't know she existed. So when the lawyer told me I thought I were on candid camera!' He says with wide eyes.

I bet!

'I always pictured that one day I would be my own boss and provide for my family. I am lucky enough to be surrounded by people who support me one hundred percent in what I do. I am grateful to them every day.' He says humbly as his staff work around us, quickly cleaning up and getting the restaurant ready for the dinner service.

You might be fooled into thinking Hay is vulnerable on first impression. He is anything but. Life has taught the ex-barman to be tough.

Hay grew up in an abusive broken home and became a rebellious child who by his own admission had a 'naughty streak'. He was a father at seventeen and has raised his son and his then girlfriend's other child as his own on a breadline budget. Ste's romantic involvement with the mother of his child finished but the two remain close friends.

'Amy was the first person I told I was gay. I was a late starter, me!'

Hay was a sous-chef at _Il Gnosh_, an Italian restaurant in the quaint village of Hollyoaks then bartended at a local club. He credits these two jobs for developing his love of food and drink. He was eighteen when he first entertained a career as a chef.

Unfortunately, five years ago tragedy struck. Hay was abducted and sustained multiple injuries in a crime that remains unsolved and whose motivations are unclear to this day.

'I try not to think about it.' He tells me, looking understandably shaken. 'In some ways what happened became a catalyst for a new me. I moved on with my life and I'd like to think that I have come out stronger than I were.'

In fact, once Hay had recovered from his injuries he was encouraged by friends to develop his cooking talent. He apprenticed in a top Chester restaurant while taking night cookery classes until he had the courage to open his own establishment.

It looks like life is finally rewarding the young businessman, chef and father.

As I stand up to reluctantly leave the bistro a rather nice looking tall man enters and approaches us. Hay introduces him as his fiancé and for the first time I notice the tell-tale ring on his finger as they hold hands.

He is shy in his confession, 'Martín is my fiancé. He is finally making an honest man of me!'

I must confess that this news puts a smile on my face.

Stephen Hay is not just a survivor. He is proof that with hard work, talent and the support of loved ones anything is possible.

_PECKISH!_ is a must for lovers of food. It fills your belly as well as your heart.

xo

You are seething with anger. You rip all the papers in your hands to shreds.

You knew it. You fucking knew it! That bastard!

That Brendan!

_When I ask him how he raised the capital to set up his business, Hay vaguely informs me that it was inheritance from a deceased relative; an estranged sister of his mother's._

'_I never even met her! Didn't know she existed. So when the lawyer told me I thought I were on candid camera!'_

Bullshit!

You stare at ripped pictures of Ste and Brendan from the cut-outs, taken separately. Their smiles are like daggers in your heart. They both look smug to you. Taunting you.

You would be willing to bet that Ste hasn't got a deceased aunt and that the money he received wasn't inheritance.

You throw the cut-outs into the metal waste bin near you. You take out a lighter from your jeans pocket and spark it up setting them on fire.

You watch as the flame gets bigger before your eyes.

You left the U.K. six years ago because the situation was hot after the fuck up of Ste's kidnapping. You immigrated to Boston, Massachusetts. You had to change your identity to enter American soil and to avoid potential capture in case Brendan gave your name to Chester police. You have had to lead a mundane low-key existence managing a moderately successful steakhouse where nobody knows your true identity.

You hate your job. You could take or leave Boston. You miss home.

You want to go home.

You conclude that only one man is responsible for putting you into this position.

Brendan Brady.

That Irish fuck fucked with you to help out his boyfriend. That fucker stole your £50,000 cash in some misplaced act of love.

Fucker!

Didn't he understand that acts of love were pointless? They always ended up blowing up in your face. The person that they were intended to help inevitably suffered in the end and became resentful and ungrateful.

Nobody won. Why? Because love was pointless.

You try not to think of your own experience nine years ago but it is inevitable.

You have two options now; move on and let go or...

A small smile appears on your face. Where is the fun in turning the other cheek; of saying _que sera sera_?

Where is the excitement in that?

You want to go home.

You miss it...

A lot.


	13. The Reunion Brendan 3

**_Present Day (Day 1)..._**

The hospital appointment and the bad news it brings almost pales into insignificance when compared with seeing Stephen at _Secondo _earlier today. That was disconcerting, painful, exciting and bittersweet. It was as though six years evaporated and you felt for him as strongly as you felt then.

Since bumping into him you have to tell yourself to man up and rationalise that seeing anyone from the past is bound to rouse feelings of nostalgia and a sense of longing.

But you can't concentrate on anything other than half-formed plans and ideas that involve seeing him again.

When your son comes to see you at _VIBE_ and invites you to join him and his mates at some dingy pub in Temple Bar you are quick to decline. Declan is a perceptive young man. He has noticed that you have not been yourself recently so you know that his intention tonight would have been to get to the bottom of why you are different. You do not feel like sharing or facing up to what is happening in your life just yet.

So instead you head back to your empty apartment and try to sleep through your night sweats and feeling of restlessness.

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 2)...**_

You wake up feeling unrested. You can't face going into work so you call Nicole and tell her not to expect you. She is sympathetic. She tells you to call her if you need anything and that is when you think that maybe you take her for granted sometimes. You make a note to self that the next time you see her you are going to give her a big hug.

You spend the day in your apartment flitting in and out of sleep.

You try not to think of your leukaemia; the thing inside you that will kill you without medicine that is curative and poisonous in equal measure. You try not to think about Stephen; who disappears from your mind for a time before bursting into your consciousness unannounced but vivid.

You are consumed by thoughts of him. It is pointless. By the end of the day you decide that enough is enough. You need distraction. You need release.

You shower, get dressed and take a trip to _The George_.

Your purpose is clear.

You stand at the bar nursing a whisky glass dressed in a crisp suit as you scan over the dance floor. It isn't long before someone catches your eye. You observe him, watching his body as it moves to the beat of the loud music with his hands reaching for the ceiling and a smile of pure ecstasy on his face. His skin is flushed from the exertion but he keeps going as if dancing is what he was born to do. His has an energetic glow that attracts you to him like a magpie to gold.

It isn't long before he catches you looking.

This is the important bit. You keep looking at him making it clear that you like what you see.

He smiles at you and then points in your direction with an outstretched arm and indicates for you to join him on the dance floor. His friends who are dancing either side of him glance over at you and encourage you, too.

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink. Something in his manner and the way he moves his narrow hips so unselfconsciously reminds you of Stephen. He used to lose himself on the dance floor in a way you never could.

When this lad continues to dance but fixes you with a seductive stare as if he is moving just for you, you know you have pulled. You will enjoy your night tonight. He strikes you as an energetic fucker, excuse the double entendre.

He may make you forget... everything, at least for one night.

XOXO

_**Present day (Day 3)...**_

Your muscles ache when you wake up. You instinctively pull the warm sleeping body that lies next to you towards you, spooning up. You know it isn't Stephen immediately but you try to hold onto the illusion for as long as you can. You run your hands over his chest and feel your bed partner stir awake. This guy is shaped differently to Stephen. You inhale his scent and he smells different. You open your eyes and see dirty blond hair. It is not the same shade. He takes hold of your hand and coaxes it down towards his groin. You try to hold on to your fantasy as you grasp the young man's semi-erect cock and start to pump it. It does not feel the same.

Not at all.

This stranger grinds his arse back into your pelvis shamelessly.

He groans and it isn't a groan you recognise; it is not the groan you crave.

"Morning." He whispers.

You check the wall clock.

Shit. Seven am. He stayed overnight. You fell asleep together. Fuck. He rubs himself more firmly against you and sighs, "You up for another round, big man?"

No.

You take your hands off him and pull away. NO, you aren't up for another round. This guy needs to go.

You are done with him. He has fulfilled his role. The illusion is now broken.

He turns around and smiles at you. He looks nothing like Stephen. It's not his fault. He isn't bad looking. You would give him an eight out of ten any day of the week but his features aren't Stephen's; his face is more round, his eyes brown not ocean blue, his lips less pouty, his lashes not as long.

"It's time to go." You say abruptly.

"What?" His face drops in surprise and disappointment. He doesn't make a move to leave so you lean in and whisper, "Run along. Chop. Chop."

Then you lift an expectant eyebrow until he drags himself out of your bed, self-consciously. He starts throwing on his clothes turning his back to you and says, "Anyone told you that you are an arsehole?"

You emit a burst of dry laughter. "If I had a pound ..."

You get out of bed too and put on your underwear.

He shakes his head and looks you straight in the eye while you pick up a bath towel. You need a shower. You need to cleanse yourself of your nightly activities.

"_You_ were the one coming onto me at the club." He says. "I should have known."

You look blankly at him. "About what?"

"This." He points at the bed. "You. You are one of those guys who can't resist scratching that gay itch once in a while and then feel bad about it afterwards."

"I don't feel bad. I just don't want to fuck you anymore. You knew the score when you came. This was a one-time thing." You say.

This one is acting up more than they usually do. Normally, they fuck off quickly because they get how this works.

"_The Buzz_ says you are a closet-case with a poor unsuspecting girlfriend. The one with the Italian name."

You stare at him. You hate being reminded of the unwanted press attention that you sometimes receive.

"You want to be careful." You say slowly with a controlled tone. "Talking like you know me."

_The Dublin Buzz_ has repeatedly portrayed you as a bit of a cad who cheats on his girlfriend with a constant string of guys. It couldn't be more wrong. Since coming to Dublin you have never actively hidden the fact that you frequent the odd gay club. You presumed that would have been enough to make it clear which way you swing. All your family and close friends, even Paddy, know. You certainly don't sleep around anywhere near as much as_ The Buzz_ suggests. You are definitely not deliberately denying who you are. You just don't see how it is anyone's business other than those who are closest to you.

"Whatever." The lad says, now fully clothed. "I'm going."

He marches out of the room that leads straight into the large open plan living space, pauses abruptly in the doorway and turns round to you.

"Oh look." He says sarcastically. "Your girlfriend is sleeping on your sofa."

He storms off and you hear the loud bang of the apartment's main door slamming shut.

Nikki is here? You walk across your bedroom navigating round a couple of used condoms to get through to the living room.

True enough Miss Manzoni, bed hair and all, is groggily stretching out on the sofa looking dishevelled and cute as a button yet full of sleep.

What the fuck is she doing here... and is she wearing one of your shirts as nightwear? Her dress and shoes are discarded at the end of the sofa.

She glances at the apartment's door then at you.

"Morning, daddy bear." She mumbles and then yawns. "Was that your bed warmer that just walked out in a huff? Cute."

"What are you doing here, Niks?" You ask impatiently. You wrap your bath towel around your waist. "When did you creep in?"

"Last night after work. I thought I'd check up on you since you refused to answer my calls after everything that happened the day before. But when I got here, you and lover boy were fast asleep." She says and combs her fingers through her wavy long locks. "By the way, this..." She points at the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table with a long painted nail, "... is a little bit predictable, Bren. I mean, really. Drinking heavily and fucking a stranger as a coping mechanism."

You scowl at her.

"You need to be at your fittest before starting chemo. Don't fuck with your body." She says. You see her eyes moisten but she holds it together. Good girl. She knows you don't want tears of pity.

"And Declan expected you at the _Foggy Dew_. The least you could have done was call him yesterday and ask him how the gig went. He wanted to cheer you up." She says.

Sometimes Nikki does a good impersonation of a nagging wife.

"I cheered myself up. What was I going to do hanging out with my son and his friends?" You ask. You couldn't stomach the thought of having to act happy to hide the fact that inside you were imploding. "I'm sure I didn't miss much at Freddie's gig. A bunch of rowdy drunk students ain't my bag." You drawl.

Nicole looks at you with wide eyes and seems to hesitate over her next words. "Not only students go there."

"Okay..." You say, "Look, I am fine if that's what you were worried about. I am not going to top myself, Niks. If you want I'll be at _THE ELECTRIC_ later so you can check up on me."

"I'm at _VIBE_ today, remember?" She says.

You nod vaguely. "Oh yeah."

"Have you..." She clears her throat, "Uh, since he is in town, have you considered maybe catching up with him? Stephen, I mean. Just a thought. Like, if you could track him down would you want to see him again?"

You are annoyed that she has brought him up again. You told her already that you didn't want to speak about him and you don't need reminding that he is here in Dublin.

You have thought of little else since your lunch at _Secondo _two days ago.

"No. I wouldn't." You lie and march off to your bathroom. Over your shoulder you say, "And stop using my shirts as night gowns..."

XOXO

Later that day your phone rings while you are walking through the club checking that everything is in order.

"Hey, kiddo." You say when Declan's ID comes up.

"Dad. Where are you?" He sounds urgent.

"_THE ELECTRIC._ Why? Everything okay?"

"Um, yeah. Yeah. It's just that I thought you were going to be here at _VIBE_ today. I wanted to speak with you."

He doesn't sound like his normal carefree self.

"Shoot."

"Uh. Okay. You didn't come out to the pub the day before yesterday." He says. "You missed a good night out."

You answer. "I was busy. Good gig?"

"Yeah. Great!" He says nothing for a second then, "So like, what did you do instead, meet up with someone nice...?"

There is something in his tone that makes you think this is a leading question.

"How do you mean?"

He quickly says, "Um, no fella on the sly?"

He emits a nervous laugh.

"Are you alright, son?" He is sounding odd.

"Yeah. No. I mean you've been acting really weird lately, dad. I thought you might be hiding some big secret. Like a boyfriend or something."

"No boyfriend. No secrets." You are not enjoying this conversation.

"Niks told me you bumped into Ste a couple of days ago."

Heart thud. So this was what he had been building up to.

"She did?" Your heart speeds up. This feels too much like your past catching up with your present.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I don't see how that's your business, Deccy."

"He was your boyfriend and then suddenly he was hurt and disappeared out of our lives, for like no reason. You never told Paraic and me why. That was kind of selfish, you know. You weren't the only one who cared about him."

You don't know what to say to that. "I didn't want to worry you. You are my sons. It is my job to protect you and keep you safe."

"How was Ste dangerous?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. He has misunderstood you.

Ste isn't the dangerous one.

"Hey, dad?" Declan says suddenly.

"Um hum."

"Can I come over tonight? I'll make supper."

"Me and you?"

"And Paraic. The Brady boys together. It'll be good. Plus you need fattening up a little." He says.

You look down at your body.

"Huh." You snort. "Yeah fine."

"We'll come over at seven." He says. "I'll get the ingredients."

"I'm not eating any of your tofu shit, son."

He laughs. "Got it."

"I'm serious." You smile. Bloody vegetarianism.

"I'll bring something you like, dad."

"Nice." And you end the phone call.

XOXO

You get back to your apartment carrying some bags ready for the night ahead. You've bought some fruit juice for your younger son, a tub of ice cream to round off the night and a couple of superhero DVDs. You are looking forward to hanging out with your kids. They have their own lives going on and while you see them often enough, sometimes it feels as though you are just getting snap shots of them while they both run full speed towards adulthood.

You get a text from Eileen at seven o'clock precisely,

_Have fun with our boys tonight. Please make sure Paraic sleeps early. He has a piano class at nine thirty tomorrow._

Fucking hell. Today, the kid has had football practice all morning and a swimming meet all afternoon and now music lessons! She is driving him too hard, you reckon. You get that he is gifted but this is supposed to be your eleven-year old's summer holiday and yet his schedule is just as tight as it was during term time.

You make a note that you need to have a word with your ex-wife about easing up on him a little. In the mean time you smirk and text,

_I'll make sure he sticks to just two beers tonight then..._

Her reply lacks humour,

_That joke is neither smart nor funny. _

You are about to text a comeback along the lines of 'who's joking' but your doorbell rings_._ There are muffled voices outside; the most distinguishable and prominent is Paraic's animated narrative of some 'sweet' goal he scored during football practice.

You grin as you approach the door ready to welcome your sons with open arms. But when you fling it open you freeze to the spot. Neither of them gets your initial attention. You stare at the person that stands between them. His broad grin converts into a look of petrified shock that must mirror yours.

He begins to take a step back but Declan stops him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder. You notice that your older son is now taller than him.

How time flies.

"Surprise!" Paraic says with a huge grin on his face. "Can you believe it, dad? It's Ste! Amazing, right? Deccy picked me up from swimming and Ste was in the car!"

Declan looks cautiously at you as if trying to read your reaction. The strange conversation you had with him earlier suddenly makes sense. He planned this somehow. He managed to track Ste down and get him to come to your apartment unknowingly.

He says tensely, "Dad knew Ste was in town, Par. They have already bumped into each other."

You remember the man Stephen was with at the restaurant; the blond surfer model guy. You feel like punching something.

"Ste's is here on holiday, dad." Paraic continues impervious to the tense atmosphere. "But he leaves the day after tomorrow. Isn't that a shame?"

Stephen looks at Declan and says in a voice full of disappointment, "You tricked me."

Your older son looks guilty. His face is flushed with shame. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"It was not your place to make this happen." You tell him firmly.

"Is something wrong?" Paraic asks innocently.

"No." Stephen, Dec and you say in unison.

Paraic smells a lie but like the smart kid he is he works your unwillingness to air your dirty laundry to his advantage.

He plays dumb.

"Good. Because I am starving and knowing Dec it will be midnight before we eat anything! We should get cooking straight away..."

He grabs the shopping bags from his older brother and Stephen and heads towards the kitchen area, leaving you all at the door. He unloads the contents onto one of the counters and keeps his tone light as if all is good.

"Dec's making lasagne, by the way. With minced beef and everything." He says.

"Yeah." Declan says sheepishly. "I'll keep the meat out of mine."

You can't speak to him right now. You know his intentions were good but he made a decision that was not his to make and now you find yourself in a situation that is awkward for everyone involved.

Paraic sighs impatiently at the three of you. "I am literally going to die of hunger any second, dad." He cracks open a jar of olives and tucks in. "Ste, will you help me out here if these two are going to stay by the door all night?"

You look at Stephen. His uncertainty grows exponentially. You know that he is battling with staying to avoid disappointing your sons and leaving to get away from you. You speak before you can stop yourself,

"I would like it, uh, if you stayed." You look at him. You honestly feel, in the moment, that if he says _no_ you will be impossibly devastated and that you might pounce on him to stop him from leaving. "If you want, that is. I don't want to mess with your holiday plans."

Declan and Paraic look at Stephen as if his answer is life and death. He takes a deep breath in and out then licks those delectable lips of his.

"Okay."

"Yes!" Paraic exclaims and fist pumps the air.

Yes indeed, you think.

XOXO

**_Six Years Ago..._**

When you approach Stephen's house you are hoping that he has done something silly like leave his phone on silent so that he can't hear it going off. But when you phone his mobile number as you walk into his home, you hear his ring tone coming from the living room. You call out his name and there is no reply. You pick up his phone which is on the sofa.

"Stephen!" You say louder, anxiety clawing at you when you get no reply. You turn to head towards his room but are faced by a smiling Warren Fox.

This spells bad news but you can't compute why he would want to visit Stephen at his home.

Foxy starts talking about his £50,000 lost loot and how he has Stephen in his possession as his insurance policy. You throw him against a wall and grip a hand tightly against his throat ready to threaten him into releasing the lad. But he cackles in your face without the remotest flicker of fear. He knows he holds all the cards. He has the most precious person in your life in his hands. You feel physically sick at the thought.

You demand Stephen's release, something Warren finds amusing. He tells you to play nice or Stephen gets it so you let him go and listen. He lays down his terms and conditions. He expects to see the money within 48 hours. Cash. He threatens violence against Stephen if you don't do as he says. He talks broken limbs, bruises, cuts, burns.

You wonder how you are going to meet his demands. Your insistence that the theft is not your doing falls on deaf ears. Warren has decided you are the marked man. That is when you realise that this is not about the money. In real terms, it is not a huge amount. This is a lesson he is teaching you. He is making it clear that he is boss.

You have two options. Find the money somehow or find Stephen and get him home safely.

Warren condescendingly pats you on the cheek.

"Understood?" He asks.

You nod slightly.

"Nice one mate." He gives you a quick grin. "Deadline is midday, Monday."

Then he walks out of the house.

XOXO

It is a Saturday so coming across £50,000 cash no questions asked at short notice is no easy task. You try to call in favours from old 'business associates' of yours. They laugh in your face. You go to the bank. They are only able to guarantee a three working day delivery of the funds. That's not good enough but you are able to withdraw all your savings that are not locked up in long-term bonds.

£17, 765.

You try a loan shark or two but they are unable to mobilise enough cash in the space of time you need it.

As night falls you realise that seven hours have passed and you are nowhere near acquiring the cash you need to get Stephen back. You pace your flat and think of other options. Tomorrow you can liquidate some assets. You look at what you have in your home. If you sell everything of value that you possess to a pawn shop you reckon you can probably get £10-15,000 given how stingy they are about parting with money. You decide to make that your first job tomorrow.

You make a phone call. Big Al. Someone you worked with back in Liverpool when you ran that club for Danny Houston. Solid. Reliable. You ask him if he has any jobs that he needs a hand with.

He expresses his surprise at hearing from you. It has been a while since you dipped your toe into seriously shady activity. You tell him that you need to get hold of some cash quickly. He tells you that there is something but it may not yield a large reward.

You drive to Liverpool immediately and buy a stash of cocaine from him at mate's rates before spending the better part of the night selling it at clubs dotted around the city. You feel sick to your stomach that you are reduced to this but it needs to be done. The problem is that coke, like most class A drugs, has devalued over the years. From £300 a gram you are lucky if you will get £40 in today's market. And everyone, even the tweaked out clubbers are cash strapped so for your night's efforts you walk away with just under £3000. Not bad for most nights but it still doesn't get you to your total.

You get home as the sun begins to rise, wondering how Ste has coped with his first day of abduction. If only you could speak with him to reassure yourself that he is okay.

You are tempted to ring Amy and let her know what has happened but she will freak out and at this stage she would be of no use. You think about alerting the cops but you are fearful of what Warren will do to Stephen in retaliation.

So you call Mr. Fox himself. It is six in the morning and you have had no sleep.

When he answers you are straight down to business.

"Foxy, I can give you £35,765 right now so long as you let him go. I'll give you the rest when he is safely home." You say feeling a lump in your throat.

"Morning to you too, Brendan." He mumbles, half asleep.

"What do you say?" You push.

"I guess your English isn't as good as I gave you credit for. I said £50,000 up front. Now don't disturb me until you have something to say that I'll find interesting."

"Let me speak with him." You demand.

There is a pause then a small chuckle that grows into a full blown laughing fit that ends with him putting the phone down on you.

You take a deep breath to suppress you anger and frustration. It doesn't work. The next thing you know, you are ripping your home to shreds to vent your pent up emotions.


	14. The Reunion Martin 3

_**Present Day (Day 1)...**_

Temple Bar has its charm but it is nothing on Barcelona's _Las Ramblas_; somewhere you and Ste hang out on the odd long weekend away. Your family has a villa out there where you spent your summers as a child. Ste loves it there so you knew that it would be the perfect place to propose to him; something you did five months ago.

And he said yes.

_Yes, Marty! I'll marry you!_

But that memory is dampened by a more recent one.

_I love you, Brendan. _

You shake your head to clear those words.

You walk out of the _Foggy Dew_ and grab a cab. Destination- anywhere but your hotel room.

Your phone beeps the way it has several times already tonight signalling an incoming message from Ste. You ignore it as you have all the others.

"Where is a good place to go for a night out?" You slur to the cabbie.

He stares at you through the rear-view mirror. "Depends on what you want."

You think about this. What you really want is to go back in time and for Ste to not to say what he did.

"Whatever." You shrug. "Surprise me."

The driver speeds through the city in that Highway Code defying way that taxis have a habit of doing.

He eventually grinds to a halt outside a redbrick building with a long queue of noisy clubbers leading up to a set of slick glass double doors with a sign above them that is reminiscent of a lightning bolt.

_THE ELECTRIC_.

You suddenly don't feel like going in. You aren't in the mood. You don't like partying without Ste so you tell the taxi driver to take you to a hotel. Not the one you have been staying in though.

"The Ashling."

You get dropped off outside the hotel and walk to the reception desk. You use the internal phone to dial a three digit room number. You know this is not a great move but this person is the only other person you know in town since he is here for the psychotherapy conference as well. And while you aren't exactly close anymore you have remained civil over the years. You spoke to him briefly during the day and he even asked after Ste.

The phone rings twice before his familiar voice answers.

"Hello?" Toby says sleepily.

"Hi. Sorry to wake you up."

"Marty?" Suddenly your ex-boyfriend sounds wide awake.

"Yeah. I-" You shut your eyes feeling teary and broken. "I need somewhere to stay tonight."

"Where are you?"

"Downstairs." You slur.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Maybe."

"Where's Ste?"

"Back at our hotel."

There is silence across the line then Toby says, "Come up."

"Thanks."

You take the lift to his floor. He opens the door to his room before you have a chance to knock on it and lets you in. You take a seat on his bed and close your eyes.

"You guys had an argument?" He asks.

Your silence acts as a big fat 'yes'.

"What happened?" He asks. No 'I told you so' thank goodness.

You can't tell Toby what happened. It would validate that his countertransference theory was true; that Ste's emotions had been about Brendan, not you, all along.

"I don't want to talk about it." You say. "If you want me to leave-"

"No." Toby lays a hand on your arm. "You can stay."

"Thanks."

You have no idea how you finally manage to fall asleep with your head spinning like it is but you do. When you wake up once in the night, you feel Toby's arm lying across you.

You don't push his sleeping body away. His presence is comforting and you have no residual feelings for him.

How healthy of you...

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 2)...**_

The next day you both head to the conference together. Toby doesn't push you for an explanation of what happened but as the morning rolls on you start missing Ste unbearably. It doesn't help that he keeps ringing you and sending you messages... that you continue to ignore.

By lunch time, you are unable to resist. You step out of the hall that is set up with a buffet meal and into the grey Dublin weather.

You take a deep breath in before answering his call. "Yes."

"Martin!" The relief in his voice is immeasurable.

"What do you want? I am missing a lecture." You lie.

"Oh. Uh. Yeah. Sorry." He sounds taken aback by your harsh tone. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I was worried sick."

"I'm fine."

"I'm glad," A pause. "Where did you stay last night?"

"I found somewhere." You say evasively. "If that's all..."

"It's not." He interjects quickly. He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. "I am so sorry, Marty."

You grip your phone so hard that you think it is going to snap. You grit your teeth together in anger and pain. You can't open your mouth to speak.

"I don't know why I said what I said but it's not true. You've got to know that, right. My mind was a mess after seeing him, that's all."

"Say his name, Ste." You say angrily. He had no problem saying it to declare his feelings earlier, did he?

The line falls quiet. Then he whispers, "Brendan."

"The man you love." You spit out.

"No! Don't say that! It's just you and me, innit? You make me so happy. I love _you_, Marty." He says it so softly and with such determination that your feel your resolve slip a little. "You mean the world to me. Honest. And I can't stand thinking that I have fucked everything up between us."

He begins to cry so quietly you suspect that he is trying to hide the fact from you.

"Ste, can you imagine how it made me feel?" You say. "It felt like all you needed was one look at the guy after six years and he was back in your heart again. He has such a hold on you."

"But I am not his anymore. I am yours. Always."

Your heart does a skip and a dance hearing those words but you can't bring yourself to fully believe him.

"Come back to the hotel. Please." He whispers.

You want to do nothing more. You suspect that he hasn't left it since you stormed out last night. But you feel fractured. The event is still raw and Ste has proved that he has unresolved issues surrounding his ex. So you ask one simple question that begs for one simple answer.

"Do you still have any feelings for Brendan?"

He pauses for too long; hesitating when you need his certainty.

"No." He croaks.

You nod into the handset. It stings. The truth is exposed behind the word.

"Liar." You hiss. "Sort yourself out, Ste."

And you end the conversation.

XOXO

In the late evening you look at your reflection in the mirror in Toby's hotel bathroom. You are wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday since you haven't been back to your own hotel but you are showered and smelling fresh. You are going commando as a needs must.

Your ex looks at you with concern as you spray his aftershave on you then grab your wallet and phone.

"Marty, you should talk to Ste instead of acting up."

"I am not acting up." You deny.

"Clubbing in the middle of the week. You're not eighteen anymore."

"Never said I was." You turn to him. "Don't wait up."

You leave and grab a taxi outside the hotel foyer.

"_The Electric_ please." You say, remembering the club that you were driven to yesterday before you chickened out.

Less than fifteen minutes later the taxi stops in front of the club's glass double doors.

You slip the taxi driver ten Euros and step out joining the long line of clubbers awaiting admission. You notice straight away that, at the very least, _THE ELECTRIC_ is gay-friendly. The queuing crowd is permissive, inclusive and friendly.

You get chatting to a group of friends who welcome you into their midst. A guy joins them a few minutes later apologising for being late. He is a looker in a rough and ready kind of way; the type of bloke that you assume works with his hands. You catch the stubble. You get a whiff of aftershave. He is dressed a little too casually for a night out in jeans, t-shirt and smart trainers. You wonder whether he'll get turned away at the door for not meeting the standard club dress code.

You needn't have worried. After quick introductions he leads you and your new acquaintances to the front of the queue and high-fives the bouncer.

"Alright, Billy-boy."

"Alright, Paddy." The burly doorman nods then says. "Just so you know the boss isn't in today."

"Which one?"

"The tache-man."

"Thanks, man." He ushers your group through the club's doors then falls in step with you and smiles. So Mr. 'Hot manly man' knows the owners, huh? You smile back at him.

"This place is great." You say taking in the atmosphere. "Thank you for getting me in."

"No problem." He replies as you walk into the main dance room. "So what's a Scotsman doing in Dublin?"

"Work for a few days. A little play."

"Then you'll have a good time tonight." He gives you a wink and a squeeze of your shoulder that makes you wonder whether he bats for your team.

"Sounds good."

And so the night begins. The bar staff are obliging. The drinks are special. The music is banging. The atmosphere is buzzing. The venue is too cool for school. It has successfully married modern design with subtle eighties flourishes. Whoever owns the place has hit a winning formula.

You are swept onto the dance floor by Paddy's friends. He stays away claiming two left feet. As the night progresses you tire and walk off looking for him. He intercepts you and suggests cooling down in the club's chill out room after grabbing some drinks at the bar. He shamelessly flirts with the female bartender which confuses you. You could swear he has been giving you suggestive looks tonight. He is hard to figure out, this Paddy bloke. He intrigues you.

You follow him into a quieter room where the music is more relaxed and atmospheric . You both collapse into a large bean bag and get talking.

He is a laugh. Quick-witted and easy-going. You feel guilty that you are getting on with him so well.

"So what's the story with you, then?" Paddy asks you.

"How do you mean?"

"Night out on your own. You don't strike me as a loner." He says.

"I'm not." You say. "It's just that I don't know anyone in town."

You don't want to bring up Ste but it is almost like you are hiding him.

He leans in and says, "Well, if you want I could show you around. Be your guide."

"Uh." You physically back away. This feels like cheating somehow. "Yeah, maybe."

He reads your rejection and rubs at his stubble in embarrassment. "Have I said something weird?" He takes a deep breath. "I'm new at all this so-"

You don't follow his meaning so you throw him a confused look.

"I've, basically, just, you know, come out. To friends and such."

You can almost see his blush in the dark lighting of the room. So he _is_ gay.

"Right. I wasn't sure. You send out some seriously mixed messages."

"Bad habits die hard." Paddy says.

You grin. "How did you know about me?"

"The way you've been looking at me and the fact that you haven't stared at any boobs since getting here!"

You laugh and he moves in closer to you. You sense his intent so you stop laughing as his lips approach yours. You move away from him. He is attractive and you like him so you can't get too close.

"Right. I think I better get going." You say and stand up. "Early start tomorrow."

He stands up, too. "Already?"

"Yeah." You say. Suddenly your mind is clear. "Look, I lied before. I did come to Dublin with someone and he is waiting for me at the hotel. I should be there not here. Sorry."

"Oh." He says.

Someone strides up and playfully shoves him in the arm.

"Hey, mister! Billy said you were here so I thought I'd find you before I left to see Bren. Are you hiding away from me?"

You look at the woman between you and Paddy. She looks familiar.

"No. I was looking for you! Come here!" Paddy lifts her effortlessly into his arms and spins her around eliciting an excited squeal and a,

"Put me down, you brute! My dress is too short!"

While they embrace and share friendly kisses you study her closely. Pretty, tall, slim, blue eyes, long almost black hair tied into a loose plait that hangs over a shoulder. Off the shoulder short dress. Great shoes.

She glances at you and the penny drops. You recognise her and she recognises you.

"Hey." She says. "You were at _Secondo_'s a couple of days ago with-"

"Yeah." You say.

"Kind of awkward wasn't it?" She says with a small smile. "We didn't even get introduced."

You nod.

"I'm Nicole." She extends a confident hand out to you.

You shake it and reply. "Martin."

Paddy looks between you, confused. "You've met?"

"Yes." You say. "By chance."

"So you are a friend of Brendan's?" You ask her, trying to keep the acid out of your voice.

"For my sins." She says with a wry grin. "We are business partners too. Paddy is one of Bren's childhood friends."

Paddy grins. "Niks is being modest. Bren and she own this place_._ They are the queen and king of Dublin's night life!"

You feel sick. You are on Brendan's turf. You want to leave now more than ever.

"And you? Is Ste your boyfriend?" Nicole asks you.

"He's my fiancé." You say and make a point of showing them your left hand with the gold band. They better let Brendan know to stay away. Despite emotions of pain, hurt and betrayal, you still love Ste.

You are still possessive of him.

"Oh." Nicole's mouth forms a perfect O. She is shocked. "Wow. Right. Okay."

"Ste?" Paddy asks. "Ste Hay from Hollyoaks?"

Nicole looks at him and then you. She is still shaken up by your revelation. Does she have a problem with gay marriage? From everything you have gathered about Brendan's internalised homophobia you wouldn't be surprised if his friends were of a similar ilk.

"Yes. That Ste." You confirm to Paddy.

Paddy's eyes widen. "That's crazy! He went out with Bren for a while!"

You feel a squeeze of jealousy. Nicole rolls her eyes at her friend's lack of tact.

"How is he, by the way?" Paddy asks suddenly. "I heard what happened."

"Fine." You say abruptly. You don't want to say anything more about him. Fuck. It seems that anywhere you go in Dublin you come across someone with a link to Brendan.

It is like he owns the city.

"Is Ste here?" Nicole asks looking around.

"No. He is back at the hotel." You say. "Sleeping. Headache, you know."

"Right." She says. There is something in her cat-like eyes that makes you feel like she is searching your soul for the truth; like she doesn't believe you. "Have you set a date for the big day?"

"Not yet." You say truthfully. "But we are planning for early next year. No long engagements."

Nikki closes her eyes for a second.

"Wow. Um, okay. I've got to get going." She laughs nervously and then says. "Nice to meet you, Martin."

"Nice to meet you, too."

"And, uh, and all the best for your wedding."

"Say hi to Bren for me!" Paddy shouts after her as she practically runs out of the chill out room.

"What a small world." He says to you.

"Yeah." You mutter before saying you need to go.

XOXO

_**Five months ago (Barcelona)...**_

After nearly five years with Ste you know you are doing the right thing today. That doesn't mean that your nerves are any less jangled. You take a deep calming breath and put finishing touches to the lunch you are preparing; two plates of warmed goat cheese and roasted peppers on a bed of rocket salad with reduced balsamic vinegar.

Today is a big day. You know it. Your parents and sister back home know it. Amy and Pete know it. Even little Leah and Lucas know it. They marvelled at the rings you showed them before you flew out on this short break with Ste a couple of days ago.

But Ste doesn't know. As far as he is concerned this trip to Spain is like the others; a chance to relax and enjoy each other's company without the stresses of day to day life...

He walks into the kitchen of your family's holiday home in his swimming trunks from the outdoor swimming pool dripping water onto the marble tiles with every step. He lazily rubs a towel over his tanned body as he approaches you with bare feet and a broad grin.

"That smells nice. Are you auditioning for a job at the bistro?"

"Maybe." You grin at him then look through the glass of the oven. Your culinary skills have improved no end since being with him but even you have to admit that the lemon soufflé dessert is a gamble. "Enjoy your swim?"

"Um hum." He says. "You should have joined me. It's lovely out."

You observe him. Your man. Cute as a button but fiery. Head strong and determined. Caring beyond belief. Sexy yet coy at the same time. You fucking adore every aspect of him.

"Marty, you are looking at me funny." He says with concern.

"Am I?" You say and smile at him. "It's your fault for looking so good."

He blushes, drops his towel and strides up to you circling his arms around your waist.

"You don't look so bad yourself." He places small gentle kisses on your bare torso, over your heart and up to your neck.

"Ugh." You fake disgust. "You are all wet."

He grins cheekily and shakes his head briskly from side to side spraying water all over you from his hair like a shaggy dog trying to dry itself after an unwanted bath.

He looks up at you defiantly. "Oops."

"And you've got the floor all slippery." You mumble as you scan down to his tempting lips.

"And yet still you love me." He says and runs his wet hands over your back over and over again, like tactile meditation.

You smile at him. "I must be mad. Maybe I should see a shrink!"

"Oi!" He pushes you away in mock affront but you pull him back to you and trap his lips to yours. That is how irresistible he is to you. You play your fingers over his body as your tongues battle and you push into each other, your bodies slipping and sliding together. You curl a hand inside his trunks and give his delectable arse a squeeze.

The sexy fucker pushes back into your palm wriggling enticingly. He has already forgotten about lunch. His hunger has been redirected elsewhere. You pull away reluctantly, give him one quick kiss then place a finger on his moist mouth.

"Lunch first." You say firmly. "Could you crack open that bottle of champers, please?"

He looks dazed for a second then picks up the magnum of champagne on the kitchen counter and whistles softly. "This is the good stuff. What's the occasion?"

"Does there need to be one, _mi amor_?" You give him a wink. He laughs and rolls his eyes at you. He pops the cork and pours the crisp amber liquid into two tall flutes.

You clink your glasses and say, "Salud!" before taking a sip.

He sighs in appreciation. "I'll get changed."

"No. You look great the way you are. Come on."

You walk him round to a corner of the garden carrying your plates while he carries the drinks.

The sky is blue and clear. The weather is warm and the odd sound of nature disturbs the relative quiet of the location.

You take your seats and Ste starts to eat. He compliments you on your culinary efforts.

He is chatty as always and talks about everything that comes to mind; some local newspaper interview he is going to do for _PECKISH!_ when you get back to Chester, the kids, the 'amazing' coffee shop he discovered on _La Rambla_, the fact that he is thinking of rearranging your bedroom at home and what your plans should be tonight.

You listen to him and smile. You could listen to him all day.

"Seriously, babe. Are you okay?" He asks you.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You are acting weird. You aren't talking. You aren't eating."

He points at your practically full plate.

"I'm alright." You reassure.

He sniffs the air lightly. "What's that smell?"

You sniff as well. "Shit!"

You run towards the kitchen and throw the oven open. Your burnt soufflés come into view through a cloud of smoke.

"Fuck!"

Stephen looks at them from over your shoulder as you take them out and place them on the cooker.

"They're burnt." He says, pointing out the obvious.

"Yeah, thanks." You mutter. You feel almost as deflated as they look.

"It doesn't matter." He says as he wraps his arms around you from behind and kisses your back. "It was a nice thought and it means we can get naughty now instead of later."

You turn to face him and lift an intrigued eyebrow at him. "Yeah? How does that work exactly?"

"Well..." He runs a finger over the waistband of your shorts. "We will start kissing and stuff, here for example, and then you'll get me all worked up. And I'll get you all worked up, too."

"Really? How?" You play innocent.

"You know! I'm not going to say!" He buries his head into your chest shyly for a second then looks at you through his long lashes. "Then you'll carry me to the bedroom or maybe the living room-"

"Carry?" You grin.

"Yes. Carry." He says emphatically.

"Okay. How about I carry you outside?" You whisper.

"Uh. No. Don't think so. I'm not an exhibitionist, Marty." He blushes.

"_Qu__é__ l__á__stima_!" You sigh. _What a pity._

"What will the neighbours say?" He grins. "Can you imagine Señora Carillo's face?"

"_Joder a los vecinos!_" You say in fluent Spanish. _Fuck the neighbours!_

"I love it when you speak Spanish!" He bites at your chin.

"I know you do."

"Maybe we can do it on the patio." He whispers into your ear before licking your lobe and nibbling on it.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He says as you get more entangled with him. "As long as she can't see us."

You laugh lightly. "Who knows? Mrs. Carillo might like the show!"

"Ew!" He crinkles his nose and pulls away from you.

He grabs hold of the cooling soufflés with a cloth. "Let's get rid of these first."

"No!"

"What?"

You think on your feet. "Don't throw away the ramekins!"

"I wasn't going to. I was going to scoop the soufflés out and put the ramekins in the dishwasher."

"Right."

He looks at you curiously. "Jeez! There is something up with you today."

Fine. This has gone to pot. Nothing has gone the way you hoped. You decide that you may as well make the best of a bad situation and give him a big spoon.

"Scoop away." You mumble.

He looks at you strangely then takes the spoon. He scrapes the contents of one burnt soufflé out into a bag on the counter then begins to do the same to the other until he hits something solid at the bottom of the ceramic bowl. He frowns as he picks it up with his fingers wincing slightly at the heat.

He looks at the hint of gold covered by burnt rubbish. He brushes the soufflé aside and stares at you with shock as the object is revealed in its entirety.

"What's this?" He asks you like an accusation.

"A ring." You say feeling nervous all of a sudden.

"Yeah, I get that."

"It's for you." You say.

"Huh?"

You remember what little 'princess' Leah ordered you to do at this point in your proposal.

'_It will be like a fairytale, uncle Marty!_' She had exclaimed with glee.

So you get down on one knee, take the ring from Ste and take both his hands in yours just like his nine year old daughter demonstrated to you.

"Oh my God!" He gasps and covers his mouth with a soufflé caked hand when what is happening dawns on him.

"Ste," you say and clear your throat. You look up at him and the speech you planned disappears out of your head.

"I love you and this was supposed to go so much smoother than this." You say.

He gives you a gentle smile.

"Anyway, the soufflé was a bad idea. I don't know what I was thinking. I wanted to impress you, I guess."

"You have."

His smile is like a thousand rays of sun hitting you. He gives you his left hand encouragingly and you start to place the ring on his fourth finger.

"Hang on." You whisper and stop your action. "I haven't asked the question yet."

"What's the question?" He grins.

"Will you do me the honour of marrying me?" Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for his answer.

He pushes the ring firmly onto his finger and studies his hand curiously, watching the reflection of the sun off it.

"Ste?"

He kneels down in front of you and kisses you. "Yes, Marty! I'll marry you."

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 2)...**_

You get back to your hotel just before one am thinking about your encounter with Nicole and Paddy a few moments ago. You are sure that they will tell Brendan that they met you. You hope that they will mention the fact that you are engaged to Ste. It may prompt the Irishman to keep away especially since your relationship with Ste is showing cracks for the first time now. You don't want him taking advantage of this hiccup to swoop in and take Ste away.

You creep into your hotel room. Ste is fast asleep, curled up in one of your t-shirts. It swamps him and makes him look smaller than he is.

You look at him and sigh. Your love for him hasn't faded but doubts of his feelings for you have surfaced.

How are you going to move forward from this? You know you want to but you want assurance from Ste that you are the only man occupying his heart.

You strip down and put on some tracksuit bottoms before slipping into bed with him.

The dip caused by your weight wakes him up. He looks startled by your presence as if he is witnessing a ghost. He opens his mouth and you know that an apology is on his lips. You don't want to hear it so you shake your head. His words won't make anything better right now.

Him being present with you will.

He looks at you with wide 'bambi' eyes that look a second away from shedding tears. You gently caress his cheek and stare at him. For the first time in almost five years he doesn't feel one hundred percent yours.

He grips your hand in his and holds it tight. It feels like he is trapping you to him, scared to let you go.


	15. The Reunion Nicola 3

_**Present Day (Day 4)...**_

You have called a morning staff meeting at _VIBE_. Everyone stands before you, from security to housekeeping to bar staff.

"Okay guys. As you know tonight we are hired out to a group of one hundred and twenty people." You say with a smile.

"What's the occasion?" One of your staff members asks.

"UK Council for Psychotherapy Annual Conference Ball." You say referring to the tablet computer in your hand then look at your employees. "Basically, it's an excuse for a bunch of shrinks to get pissed and wind down after days cooped up listening to seriously boring stuff. These guys are going to be expecting the best and we will be here to deliver."

You point at the bar and catering staff. "We'll make upstairs into the dining room. Each table gets two bottles of red and white wine. That's included in the meal price. Anything extra gets charged. Do you have everything you need, guys?"

They nod so you turn to housekeeping.

"And down here, I have a couple of banners that the organisers have asked me to put up around the dance floor. Otherwise we will keep things as they are. You can't improve on perfection!" You give them a wink. "I'd just give the place a once over. Make sure you set the tables early upstairs so you can help elsewhere if you are needed."

"I am still waiting to hear from the florist. We may not have flower arrangements for the tables." Your head housekeeper says apologetically.

"Nothing we can do now. Let's keep our fingers crossed" You say. You think quickly. "We still have some white candles from the White Ball last month. Use them is the flowers are a no show."

"What time are we expecting the guests?" A bartender asks.

"Six for drinks. Seven to sit for dinner. Speeches at eight-thirty before dessert. Oh yeah, make sure everyone has a full glass of complimentary champagne for that. And then they want the party to start from about nine-thirty down here. Night finishes at one."

"So an all night bender then. Rock and roll!"

You look at who said that sarcastic comment.

Declan. He wasn't here a second ago. He must have sneaked in without you realising.

"Glad you could join us, Deccy!" You say with dry humour.

"Thank you! I have some good news. I went past the florists on my way here and used my considerable charm." He grins and winks at you. "The flower arrangements will be delivered to your exacting standards in three hours, Niks. No need to say 'you are the greatest, Dec'."

"Suck up!" One of the staff ribs him, eliciting a ripple of laughs from the others.

"God, you are just like your dad!" You say in exasperation.

"Thank you." He says with a bow.

"Where _is_ Brendan?" Someone asks.

"Yeah, he hasn't been in for a couple of days now." Someone else says.

You feel like you are under the spotlight. You don't want to say anything that will give away the fact that your friend has not been physically and mentally fit enough to come to work recently. You open your mouth to speak but Dec saves you,

"He was at _THE ELECTRIC_ yesterday. But he is taking things easy. I saw him last night. He is fine."

He grins broadly as if holding a satisfying secret to himself.

"Good. Good." You say, trying to keep your voice light. "Okay, we have a lot to do, guys, and only a few hours to do it. Let's go. Any questions, just ask. I'll be in the office."

You give them an encouraging smile and head off to the corner room.

Once you get in and close the door, you allow your smile to fall. You sit yourself at your desk and ruminate.

When did your life become so complicated and full of secrets? And why do these secrets all revolve around Brendan?

You can't stand looking at Deccy's happy countenance. It breaks your heart. He will never forgive you if he finds out that you knew about his father and didn't say anything. Brendan has put you into a difficult situation.

And you have learned in a chance meeting with Martin at _THE ELECTRIC _that Stephen is engaged to be_ married_. Fucking _MARRIED_!

You don't know how you feel about it. These last few days, since Ste's peripheral re-appearance in Brendan's life, your mood has been all over the place.

Part of you feels that Brendan should never know about his ex's pending nuptials. It would upset him further even though he acting as if nothing is affecting him.

When you asked him, yesterday, whether he would want to speak to Ste again and catch up you were putting out feelers; trying to gage what he felt for the young man.

Brendan was emphatic,

'_No I wouldn't.' _

You know he was being truthful but not because there is any love lost. It is because a) he feels he has missed the boat after seeing Stephen with another man and b) maybe he does not now know what he could say after all these years.

Maybe Brendan and Ste not seeing each other ever again is a good thing for all involved, you rationalise. What good could come of it? It could potentially devastate the three men involved.

And a small part of you sees a selfish advantage, too. Ste wouldn't mess with what you and Bren have. Your friendship.

Yeah. It is definitely better for them to stay apart.

"Nikki! Nikki!" Declan comes into the office excitedly and closes the door behind him, beaming at you like the cat that got the cream.

"What's up?" You say on guard. "Please tell me there is no drama about tonight."

You brace yourself for his news.

"No drama." He plonks himself into the seat opposite you. "At least regarding the ball."

"Okay." You say cautiously as you take in the twinkle in his eye. You hate when he gets that glint. It spells mischief.

"Remember our chat a couple of days ago?" He grins broadly.

"Which one?"

"The one about dad and Ste."

Your heart sinks. "The one where I told you that people change and move on."

He grins at you sheepishly. "Yeah, about that..."

"Where I told you to leave things well alone."

"You said that?" He cocks his head to one side and scratches his chin as if trying to recall. "Oh yeah..."

"What have you done?"

"Nothing..." He stares at you wide-eyed, "...much."

He slumps in his chair and folds his arms together. "Freddie remembered the name of the hotel where Ste and his bloke are staying, right. So I called it yesterday and got put through to his room. I couldn't believe it when he picked up. It was great to speak to him. I think he was surprised but happy to hear from me. So then I told him that I heard he was in town and had bumped into dad and you and what a coincidence that was, blah, blah, blah."

He starts laughing. "He asked if you were dad's girlfriend. Can you believe that? As if!"

You feel a squeeze of upset in your chest that Dec should find that so funny.

"I told him that that would be weird since everyone knows that dad is into dudes, you know. Ste was surprised at that. That it was kind of common knowledge. Anyway, I told him that dad wasn't with anyone. Like, hint, hint!"

He winks at you. You feel your mouth dry.

"I thought Ste would bait but instead he changed the subject. He asked me how I had been and stuff but he didn't say much about himself except that he is a chef now and he owns his own bistro in Chester. His kids are well etc. But he didn't mention his bloke which is weird, right. I mean, I told him about Aoife. He remembers her, can you imagine? So I'm thinking that slip of the tongue that Freddie told me about was a fatal blow, as in his boyfriend hasn't been able to forgive him about it. Anyway, I thought up a plan there and then. I told him that since he was in town it would great to meet up with Paraic and me since we haven't seen him in ages. I told him that we could do something low key like hang out at home for supper."

His leans forward. "He asked if I lived with dad. I said no. Not a lie. And that seemed to reassure him so he said yes. Then I called dad and asked him if he fancied having supper with me and Paddy. He said yes. Fast forward to me picking Ste up from his hotel yesterday evening then Paddy from swimming practice before heading to dad's place."

"You lied to them." You say.

"Not exactly. I omitted some points that they may have considered relevant. They were so angry with me, Niks!" He smiles. "But it was worth it. I got them into one room!"

He looks pleased with himself.

"Ste and I made lasagne. Then we watched a DVD. It was like the good old days. Dad seemed, like, relaxed for the first time in ages."

You can't speak. You feel devastated for some reason.

Ste and Brendan.

Reunited.

"I thought you'd think it was awesome." Deccy says reading your expression. "Paddy and I left Ste at dad's apartment at about ten-thirty so that we could get an early night at my place but I think they reconnected, if you know what I mean!"

He raises and lowers his eyebrows suggestively.

"How do you know?" You whisper.

"I don't. But you should have seen them, Nikki. The eyes."

You look at all his youthful enthusiasm and feel despondent.

"What about Martin?" You whisper.

"Who?" Deccy says then, "Oh yeah. Him. I don't want to seem harsh but if all it takes is Ste seeing dad for him to forget about his boyfriend then that's not exactly a rock solid relationship, is it?"

"You can't judge someone else's relationship, Declan."

"Why are you taking his side?" He asks clearly disappointed at your lack of support.

You shake your head in denial. "I'm not! But you don't know the half of it, young man. Martin seems like a nice guy. And your dad ..." You stop yourself from saying what Bren told you not to. "... He has had his moment with Ste. And it ended, six years ago. If something was meant to happen between them it would have happened by now. Have you thought of that? Stephen has moved on ... with Martin."

He waves a dismissive hand. "I am sure that Martin will get over it eventually. He'll find the right guy one day. Someone who actually loves him. And anyway he is probably over it already if his boyfriend is screaming out other people's names in the bedroom. I mean-"

You slam your hands on the desk, shocking him. "You little unthinking cocky teenager!" You shout in upset.

"Nikki!" Declan looks at you in surprise.

"You don't get it, do you? Martin loves Ste with all his heart and invests in their relationship one hundred percent. It is not easy to walk away from that! You stay by the person you love because you can't imagine life without them. They mean everything to you. They make you turn a blind eye to logic that tells you that maybe this is not perfect."

You feel really upset and you realise quickly that it is because you are talking about yourself.

These are emotions that you have been repressing for some time now. You have made your relationship with Bren a surrogate for a real meaningful fulfilling intimate relationship with another man. He has filled a void that should have been taken up by someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.

The way you love Brendan.

"You ignore the fact that you deserve better, Dec. That you are good enough to have someone love you back!"

You feel tears on your face and rub them as you glare at Brendan's son.

He looks like he has been caught up in an unexpected storm. At first he looks confused then quietly and tentatively, realisation dawns on him.

He asks, "Are we talking about Martin... or you, Nikki?"

You look at him; this cocky but sweet boy that is a younger version of a man you care for with all your heart.

"This has nothing to do with me." You lie. "They are getting married, okay. Ste and Martin. They are engaged and you are fucking with their lives, Deccy. Now do you get it?"

A part of you knows that you are revealing this for selfish reasons. Declan stares at you in disbelief. The guilt that washes over him is palpable.

"Shit." He whispers.

"Yeah."

XOXO

You call Brendan.

His phone rings until it goes to answer phone.

'This is Brendan Brady. Leave a message. I might get back to you.'

You smirk at his typically cocky tone.

"Hey, daddy bear. Just seeing how you are doing? Declan told me that you had supper together with a surprise guest last night. Call me. I want a blow by blow account of what happened. I'll be at _VIBE_ all day. Ciao!"

You put the phone down and stare at it for a while. You can't help but wonder what Brendan is up to now. If Declan is right and Ste stayed over at Brendan's place then there is every chance that they are still together.

You should let go. What can you do about it? Even if things don't work out with Ste it isn't as if Brendan will suddenly change his sexual orientation and declare his undying love to you.

Funny how as long as he had a string of meaningless flings things were fine but now that someone potentially meaningful is on the horizon, it feels like your world is crumbling. You sniff some developing tears away.

You have to work. You only have short hours to go before the ball. You pick up the list of invitees for tonight's soiree. Your intent is to check that all the names are correct as per the list given to you by the event organisers and then print a few of copies off to distribute to the bouncers at the door.

You scroll down the list quickly until you get to the middle section,

_Landon, Dennis. Plus one Landon, Michelle_

_Lau, Patricia. Plus one- Lau, Thomas_

_Martinez, Antonio. No extras_

_McCallister, Martin. Plus one- Stephen Hay_

_Nelson, Benjamin. Plus one- Nelson, Katherine_

Martin McCallister. Stephen Hay. Your eyes practically pop out of your skull. This feels like more than a twist of fate. In fact, all the events that have occurred over the last four days feel like they couldn't have happened were only chance at play.

This feels like destiny unfulfilled; constant series of events designed to intertwine Brendan's and Ste's paths somehow whether directly or indirectly here in Dublin. _Secondo._ The _Foggy Dew_. _THE ELECTRIC _and tonight _VIBE._

You have one question in mind and it feels like your relationship with Brendan hinges on it.

With everything that has happened, will Ste come to _VIBE_ with Martin as his plus one tonight?


	16. The Reunion Stephen 4

_**Present Day (Day 3)...**_

You are in bed alone, tense with worry and guilt, certain that Martin isn't coming back to the hotel for a second night in a row. You have called him incessantly and he only answered once, at lunch, to tell you to 'sort yourself out'.

You don't know what to do. You are not denying you have issues. After all, that is how you met him. But you can't begin to figure out how to 'sort them out'. Martin has always been the one to help you cope and lead a 'normal' life. You need him. So where is he now in the dead of night in a foreign city?

You stir when he creeps into your hotel room. You hold your breath and stay still as you hear him undress behind you, then quietly slip into bed smelling of booze, sweat and unfamiliar aftershave. He has been on a night out. You want to ask who he rubbed himself against to pick up the unfamiliar male fragrance that clings to him but you don't. You have no right. Not after your fuck up.

And besides, you are grateful and relieved beyond belief that he is back. You want to apologise no end for what you did. You want to tell him that you were stupid to think of anyone but him.

The thought of losing him fills you with a fear so intense that it matches the fear you felt for everything around you in the months following your abduction and before Martin came into your life. He means so much to you. He stabilises and grounds you. You rely on him and _need_ him.

Yeah, maybe you are needy when it comes to him but is that a bad thing?

You start to beg for forgiveness but he is having none of it. He won't talk to you but he does let you hold his hand. It reassures you that he won't leave you when you fall asleep.

xo

The sudden loss of contact with warm skin is what wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. Martin's hands push you away from him at first but then he tugs at your pants and the t-shirt you are wearing (his t-shirt) pulling them off you so that you are naked in no time. You don't have time to wake up fully as he flips you onto your back. His hands are determined, insistent and impatient. He makes his intentions clear to you through his actions. He wants to fuck.

"Marty." You try to slow him down. "We need to talk-"

He silences you with a heated kiss.

"Not now." He whispers.

Why is he refusing to talk? Instead, he paws at you, multitasking; stripping out of his tracksuit bottoms, kissing you over your torso and neck and parting your legs to settle between them.

"Wait, Marty." You say uneasily. He can't seriously think that the situation can be swept under the carpet with sex. You encourage him to look at you. The fire in his eyes speaks volumes. He licks his tongue over your lower lip then lightly bites it.

"Just want to feel close to you, Ste." He whispers heatedly.

He pushes your legs further apart, lifting them so that your hips and knees are fully flexed either side of him. He lubes his cock and pours some of the warm viscous fluid directly onto your hole before snapping the top of the bottle closed and tossing it aside. The defined muscles of his chest and arms flex and relax with every movement. He is mouth-wateringly sexy. You should feel horny as hell as he rubs his fingers against your opening in time with his dick's thrusts against your thigh but you aren't. He isn't forceful exactly but he _is_ single-minded and unwavering in his actions.

It makes you panic. You don't want this. You aren't in the mood. You instinctively try to clamp your legs together but his position between your thighs blocks you. This is not okay. Marty knows how important it is for you to feel a measure of control when it comes to sex ever since what happened to you. He knows that and yet you feel a lack of power right now.

He penetrates you with a finger and then two. You can't relax against the intrusion. You bite your lip in distress.

_Fuck. This can't happen. Stop! _

"Just give me a minute." You hiss tightly trying to not let your anxiety run away with you. _Maybe if I get myself into the mood I'll be fine_, you think but your nerves build until they scream at you to get the fuck away from this dangerous situation.

Intuition, based on past experience, tells you that you are about to be violated. You envision a big burly man; sweaty, overweight, hairy, with putrid body odour, grunting in short sharp bursts as he pummels into you mercilessly not listening to your cries of pain and supplications to stop.

_No. Please Stop!_

"Please." You gasp in fear. The hitch in your voice and the dig of your hands into his arms snaps Martin out of his trance. He reads alarm in your body language and immediately stops his actions, pulling his fingers out and collapsing onto you.

His forehead rests against yours. His warm breath is harsh against your face.

It's Martin. _Not that man_. It's your Martin.

"Sorry." He whispers after a moment. He soothingly kisses your forehead and you calm down embracing the familiarity of his weight on you. All is good. He didn't hurt you. How could you have thought he might?

"I felt up for it." He mumbles then begins to roll off you but you trap him to you by wrapping your arms and legs around him. You run your hands over his back. Its hard plains remind you of the smooth marble of ancient Roman statues but warm and supple.

Marty is solid as a rock in every way.

You kiss his cheek. Um. Stubble. You rub against it. You like it when he grows a little facial hair...

"I didn't think you'd come tonight. I am so happy you're home."

He stares at you as if trying to read your soul. "We aren't home." He whispers.

You confess, "I felt like I couldn't breathe when you weren't here."

"Drama queen. That's not normal." He pulls you into a kiss and things heat up quickly between you.

"No?" You say vaguely. You cling to him. That is how you have always felt in your relationship with Martin; his absence leaves you feeling like you are incompatible with life. That is why you have never gone more than a day without seeing him. That is why you always travel with him...

You want to show him that you need him and that he can't leave you again so you trace your hands over him until you reach his cock and grip it firmly in your hand feeling the weight of its rigid lubed length. You jerk him off slowly, feeling its familiar contours, swiping at the head to elicit a sharp hiss out of him. You position yourself beneath him so that you can easily guide him to your hole, no foreplay. You are ready to be invaded by him. He enters you steadily while kissing you passionately, imitating the plunging action of his dick. That stretch as he breaches the tight ring that guards your warm slick passage causes you to pull away long enough to groan in pleasure and then crush his lips to yours. The graze of his shaft against your insides turns you to putty and you lift your hips up to him even more inviting deeper penetration.

'Yes,' you sigh because it feels good. He fucks you hitting your prostate just how you like it. You love getting filled like this. It is why you almost exclusively bottom. You feel more turned on being fucked than fucking. It's just the way it is and it assures you now that you feel that lust with Marty. It proves your bond, you think.

_This time I won't think about him_, you tell yourself as your fiancé pummels into you with an abandon that curls your toes and causes you to grip his buttocks to push him closer to you still. _This time it will be just Marty and me_. _Bound together. No one else ever again._

xo

When you wake up you are alone in bed again. Martin has left for his penultimate day at the conference. You stretch out languidly displacing the sheets that cover your modesty as you recall how you and your fiancé spent most of the night and some of the morning fucking.

He was all over you; like a soldier spending a final night with his lover on the eve of his next tour of duty. No words. All action.

Despite all that action you still feel disconnected from your man. You put it down to you having to rebuild trust with him. You are prepared to work through it because you love and care for him and he is right for you. Fuck the contradictory voice in the back of your head.

Marty is the whole package and a perfect fit.

You sit up ready to start your day and spot a note on the bed next to you. Its presence worries you. Marty is not a 'note person'.

_He's dumped me._

You are shaking when you pick up the piece of paper telling yourself to get a grip and stop being so overdramatic.

_Ste,_

_I love you. I think that is why I can't say what I need to say to your face__; what I should have said years ago. I was blinded by my feelings for you. _

_The problem is I don't think you love me like I love you. I think you have unresolved issues with Brendan that you have avoided dealing with. You can deny it but it's true and I don't want to go into our marriage worried that I am second best to a man that you can't move on from. _

_God knows I want you with me but only if you want me equally. So I want you to figure out what Brendan means to you. I hope you come to realise that he is not the man you have made him in your head. No man worthy of you would leave you the way he left you, Ste. Those are the actions of a cold-hearted coward. You deserve better._

_I am setting an ultimatum. I have left your ticket for the ball tomorrow on the side table. If you want a future with me then come join me there and we will start a new chapter in our lives together. _

_Until then do what needs to be done to make your mind up. _

_Me or him. _

_I'll be staying with Toby until then._

_Siempre te amaré,_

_Marty_

Your tears stain the note. They run unchecked when you see Martin's gold ring not far from where the note was. You slip it onto your thumb. Even then it is loose on you. What does this mean? Why did he take it off?

Has he called off the wedding?

You freak the hell out and tear up the note flinging the ripped pieces into a bin. Then you trash the room like some out of control rock star. Soft furnishings, mattress, sheets, and clothes are flung around. Curtains are pulled to the floor. The bin is kicked onto its side and a lamp is flung to the floor. You try to fling the TV off the wall but it is wedged on so you punch it and hurt yourself more than you dent it.

When you finally calm down, your grief, fear, guilt and pain linger. Your outburst hasn't helped.

The phone rings distracting you from assessing the mess you have caused. For a second you think its Martin calling to tell you that he got a little over-emotional and to ignore the note. Then you worry that it might be a member of the hotel staff who has somehow got wind of your tantrum and is calling to tell you to leave the premises after paying for damages.

"Hello?"

"Oh my God! It's you!"

"Who's speaking?"

"Declan!"

Your mouth dries up at hearing the name. Surely not-

"You know, Declan Brady. Long time, ey?"

O.M.G.

"Declan?" Jesus. Brendan's older son is on the line.

His voice has deepened but in your mind you picture a lanky dark-haired thirteen year old kid whose appearance is a carbon copy of his father. You recall his tendency towards angst and his unsociable obsession with his Nintendo 3DS. But he made the effort to get to know you once he knew you were with his father '_in that way'_.

That is how he had put it to you one day when he cornered you, headphones wedged in his ears as they always were.

He asked you earnestly, '_Ste, you know you and dad... Like, are you guys together, you know, IN THAT WAY_?' You had swallowed nervously knowing how angry Brendan would be to learn that his son knew his secret but you did not lie to the boy.

You nodded, '_Yes. I am his boyfriend. Is that okay?_'

He had shrugged indifferently and said, _'You'd think he would be in a better mood then,_' before putting his iPod back on, turning on his heel and walking away while jerking his head to the beat of the music. He never judged you or stressed over what his mates might think about his dad. He scored major bonus points with you for that and eventually you got on with him and Paraic so well that Brendan would roll his eyes in mild exasperation at the three of you, thick as thieves and giggling away, during the boys' visits to Hollyoaks.

'_Kill me now!' _He would plea to the skies and you three would laugh harder.

_'Your dad is such a grouch sometimes, guys!_'

"Nikki, dad's friend, told me they bumped into you at _Secondo_ two days ago."

"Right." You say. How did the kid find you? "I didn't tell your dad where I was staying."

"I didn't find out from him. I, uh, I met Martin, like by chance later on in the evening."

"Martin? Where?" You say numbly. The walls are closing in.

His voice sounds cagey. "At a pub in _Temple Bar_. He was a little drunk, I think. He's a friend?"

So that is where your fiancé went on the night he stormed out of your bedroom.

"Yes, in a way." You say weakly.

"He was out on his own." Declan says cautiously. "He seemed pretty upset about something."

"Oh." You say. "Yeah. Probably work."

"Yeah. Probably." Declan clears his throat awkwardly. "Anyway, he was speaking to my friend and mentioned where you were staying and stuff..."

"Stuff?" How much else did Martin say in his drunken state?

"Um, yeah." Declan says and then does a one eighty change in conversation. "Anyway, the reason I am calling is because I am offended. I can't believe you were going to leave Dublin without catching up with Paddy and me." His tone is light-hearted.

"Yeah, Sorry." You say with a smile forming on your lips. "I would have called..." You lie. You wouldn't.

"What are you up to tonight?"

You can imagine the mischievous smile on his face. His father's smile.

"I don't know." You say uncertainly. "What were you thinking?"

"It's a weekday so something low-key. I could make us something to eat at my house." He says persuasively. "... In halls of residence."

"You cook now?"

"Yeah!" He laughs. "Kind of! Scrambled eggs and sometimes noodles, mainly! I burn a lot of stuff!"

You laugh. "How's that supposed to convince me to say yes to your invitation?"

"Because I'm planning to enlist the help of someone who _can_ cook!" He laughs. "You!"

You laugh harder. God, it's good to get some light relief and Brendan's kids always supplied that by the truck load. Maybe they would be a welcome distraction.

"Thanks, that's just what I want to do when I am on a break from the bistro; cook some more!"

"Bistro?"

"Yeah." You are coy when you say. "I own a small eatery back in Chester."

"Wow. Congratulations. That's awesome!" He says. "Come on Ste, say yes! Otherwise, I won't have an excuse to get out of having supper with my girlfriend's parents!"

"You have a girlfriend?" You ask forgetting that he is no longer a kid.

"Yes. Her name is Aoife. Feisty. Pouty. A bit like you!"

"I don't pout!" You catch your reflection in the hotel room mirror and your lower lip is out in full sulk mode. You rein it in.

"What about you? You got someone special?" He asks.

You are taken aback by his question.

_Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know. Until two days ago I was in a stable loving relationship with a hot, smart, caring man. But now I don't know what's going to happen and it is all because I saw your dad again after all these years and he messed with my mind._

"Uh. What's with the personal questions, young man?" You say trying to keep your voice light.

"Just curious. Catching up." He says quickly.

Did Martin say something to Declan's friend about the two of you?

"So I'll pick you up at the hotel at 6ish." He says. "Then we can get Paddy from his swimming class before heading home for food. See you later!"

And he puts the phone down before you have a chance to protest.

xo

That evening you find yourself riding a lift to the top floor penthouse suite of a swanky apartment building flanked by little Paddy and Deccy. You are immediately suspicious. What kind of student lives in digs like this? Why does he knock on his own door? Why is Paraic giving his older brother knowing looks?

The answer is before you when the door opens and you come face-to-face with Brendan. You gasp. You want to run to him, you want to punch him, you want to kiss him.

You look at Declan. He manipulated you. His sheepish expression tells you that he did this on purpose.

How dare he?

You should go. That is the sensible thing to do because being near Brendan never results in anything good. You have learnt your lesson. Martin is wrong. Confronting your ex and facing your past is no use.

But Paraic's puppy dog eyes and Dec's clever persuasion, 'at least have a quick bite before you go', convince you to stay. Or maybe it is when Brendan says,

"I would like it if you stayed."

Whatever. You decide you will prepare the lasagne, eat it quickly and leave as soon as possible.

You work pretty much single-handedly despite offers of help. It is a good way to completely ignore Brendan. You hope that the thud of your heart in your ears and the steady blush that suffuses your skin aren't obvious when he looks over to you from the bar stool he is perched on at the other side of the large open plan room.

Why is he looking at you anyway? _Maybe he actually doesn't want me here. Or maybe it's the scars on my scalp and arms. They aren't that obvious. He can't see the ones on my legs, so..._

You try not to let that bother you. You don't care what he thinks and if there is anything therapy has taught you it is that it wasn't your fault that what happened to you happened. The scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They speak for what you went through and the strength and courage you needed to come out the other side.

Fuck Brendan if he has a problem with them.

With the sauces for the lasagne made and the fresh sheets of pasta out, Paddy gives you a hand to construct the layers of the two dishes; one meat and one non-meat option. He looks even less like Brendan than he did when he was five but his mannerisms, directness, dry humour and edginess are his father's.

"There. Done." He says smugly as he wipes his hands together dramatically and puts the dish into the hot oven confidently, before you have a chance to tell him to be careful. "How long do we wait for now?"

"Fifteen to twenty minutes." You say, suddenly feeling exposed. How are you going to avoid engaging with Brendan now that you have nothing to occupy your hands with?

You keep your eyes fixed to the chopping board in front of you. The silence is excruciatingly awkward.

"Dad, shall I open a bottle of wine for you and Ste?" Declan asks tentatively.

"Nothing for me, thanks." You say quickly. "I don't drink."

Dec frowns at you like you are mad.

"I mean, I only really drink alcohol on special occasions now."

"Why?" He asks.

You can feel Brendan's eyes on you too and you go even redder than you already are.

_To stay in control, that's why. I need to always stay in control. _

You shrug. "Health move."

"Declan is still vegetarian." Paddy interjects. "But it has nothing to do with being healthy. It's just that where he sees Bambi I see yummy steak! That's what men do. Make fire. Eat meat."

The kid snorts a laugh and giggles at his own joke.

"Funny." Declan says drily while pouring three glasses of orange juice and a white wine for his father. He passes the drinks around.

"Can't drink either tonight." He says to no one in particular. "I have to drive Tarzan here and me home at the end of the night... And you of course."

Brendan raises an eyebrow at his son. His son mentions giving you a ride like an afterthought.

"You can stay over, guys." He addresses his sons. "Better than your student digs."

You look around at his state-of-the-art, sleek, vast home with wicked views of the city through a floor length window. Brendan has done well for himself.

"Thanks, dad, but I live closer to Miss Tang's place than you. This way Paddy and I can get a bit of a lie in before I have to drop him off for his piano class tomorrow."

Declan looks between you and Brendan. There is that familiar cheeky glint. You wonder what he is playing at. Surely he isn't trying to play Cupid? That kid has always been a bit of a romantic. In fact, he and Paddy make blatant attempts to get you and Brendan talking while the lasagne simmers in the oven.

- "Why don't you take a seat, Ste? Dad?"

- "Dad, has Ste told you that he owns a bistro called Peckish? How cool is that? Tell him about it, Ste."

They also throw in bits of information that they think might be of interest to you,

"You should check out dad's clubs. VIBE is exclusive. It's invited members only unless it is for private functions but _THE ELECTRIC_ is more open. Its 'Gay-friendly' to. That's what the reviews say. It has a gay night twice a week, doesn't it, Dad?" Declan crow-bars into conversation. Is this to showcase that his father has washed himself of the last stain of internalised homophobia?

"You know it has." Brendan mumbles glaring at his son.

Both you and Brendan reply to their attempts at chat with a series of mainly monosyllabic words and grunts. This is awkward, embarrassing and painful.

After a while they give up and march off to play video games on the _PS3_ located in the living area while waiting for the food to be ready. The room quickly fills with sounds of cars screeching and speeding and the boys taunting each other playfully.

Brendan continues to look at you evenly from his stool at the far end of the kitchen area. The physical distance between you is almost laughable. It is as if he can't bear to be in the same room as you. After a long moment, he stands up and saunters over to you, one hand in pocket, the other holding his half full glass of wine. He stops at the kitchen counter, directly opposite you and speaks softly enough to keep his sons out of earshot,

"Where's your boyfriend?"

You feel a lurch in your heart. "At the hotel." You lie. "Having a quiet one. Watching telly."

He nods and downs the rest of his wine letting the glass land on the granite surface with a loud thud that prompts a curious glance from his boys. They quickly turn their attention back to the game and Brendan smacks his lips together.

"How rock and roll."

"We have fun." You say defensively.

He doesn't reply, just stares at you. You feel self-conscious. You aren't vain exactly but there has always been something about the way Brendan looks at you that makes you think that every pore and follicle of your being is being observed. You feel stripped bare and vulnerable under the scrutiny of his piercing blue eyes. His gaze tracks over you languidly and makes you feel hot all over; makes you want to fan yourself and remove a layer of clothing although that would get you down to underwear. That's the effect his look has on you. It makes you want to strip off in front of him.

Fuck.

There is something he wants to tell you. It is written all over his face but he doesn't speak. He picks up the bottle of wine and pours himself another glass taking a healthy sip out of it.

"How long are you staying in Dublin, Stephen?" He asks.

Stephen. You forgot about that; how he says your name with a strong Dublin inflection from the back of his throat like a purr. It feels like a caress designed to make you arch your back in appreciation.

"We are leaving the day after tomorrow." You say calming yourself down. _Why is he asking?_

"So this was a holiday." He assumes.

"Work and play." You say.

He smirks after a moment. "Play..." He stretches the word out, over-enunciating it. He downs the rest of his second glass of wine and pours yet another. At this rate of drinking he is going to live up to Irish stereotype if he is not careful. "Is that what you call it now, Stephen, 'play'?"

You can't meet his stare. You blush at the suggestion in his tone.

"Amongst other things..." You say deliberately.

"How long have you been together?"

"Five years."

The tick in his cheek is the only give away that this news comes as a shock to him.

"Well, well, well. The blond bombshell must be doing something right." He takes another sip. He starts checking off his fingers. "Let me guess. One. He is a great fuck. That has got to be number one. You love getting fucked so I am assuming he 'measures' up so to speak."

You cringe at his crassness. Why is he being an arsehole?

"And he probably spoons after, am I right? I am, aren't I? Yeah he does. And he listens to you." His tone is mocking. "Cries over puppies. Knits. Reads poetry."

"Stop it." You whisper angrily.

He rubs his forehead slowly as if kneading a headache away and whispers,

"Sorry."

You look up at him because surprisingly he sounds genuine. Shit. Is he jealous? Is that what the venom is about?

"He takes good care of you, yeah?" He asks softly.

"I'm not talking about him if you are going to mock him."

"I'm not mocking."

He sounds sincere so you say, "Yeah, he takes good care of me... Not that I need taking care of."

"Right. You deserve a man who can protect you, Stephen, and make you happy."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

He shakes his head. "No. For a change. No. I'm serious."

You look at him as he rounds the counter to stand next to you and opens the oven door with some oven mitts to take out the lasagnes.

Is he implying that six years ago he did not feel he could make you happy and care for you? He's wrong. He made you unbelievably happy. And it wasn't up to him to protect you. All you needed was to know that he would be there and support you when or if bad shit happened. That's all.

"Food's ready, boys." He says to his kids.

He brushes his arm against you accidentally as he lays the lasagnes on the heatproof granite surface and you visibly recoil from him. It isn't out of fear, disgust or anger. It is because you feel an immediate spark of awareness. A fire. How embarrassing. Only Brendan has such an effect on you. He ignites you and you burn from his nearness,

"Don't worry. I wasn't trying it on." He says. His warm breath and that familiar scent of his causes your body to melt. "I'm not going to muscle in on another man's turf."

"I didn't think you were trying to." You say. Why do you feel low? It's a good thing that he knows that you are not available and anyway he is almost definitely well over you.

"I am, like, literally starving!" Paddy says exaggeratedly as he runs up to you.

Declan is behind him and grins, "Let's eat!"

XOXO

You wake up and sit bolt upright. It takes you a moment to get your bearings. Brendan's place. You are lying along the length of his sleek black leather sofa with a soft pure white Egyptian cotton sheet covering you.

Where did it come from?

The television in front of you reminds you of what happened. You ate supper with Brendan and his boys. The kids carried the lion share of the conversation. _'This is the first time we have used the table to actually eat!'_ Paddy commented during supper.

Afterwards, the four of you crammed onto Brendan's sofa to watch a superhero action movie and eat ice cream. The boys sat between you and Bren. The dimmed lights of the room coupled with your fatigue from barely sleeping for two nights in a row meant that you were inevitably going to fall asleep half-way through the film.

"Hi."

You turn around to see Brendan walk towards you wearing only low slung tracksuit bottoms. Fuck, he looks hot even though he has lost some of his bulk since you last saw him bare-chested. You wonder whether life stresses have contributed to his weight loss.

"Hi." You say. _How long have I been asleep?_ "Where are the boys?"

"They've gone back to Deccy's digs. They wanted to say bye but you were... indisposed. You slept for two and a half hours."

You rub your eyes tiredly. _Shit. _"Sorry. I'll go. I'll get a cab."

You stretch out and he fixes his eyes on the exposed wingspan tattoo on your hip. You let your arms fall quickly and tug your t-shirt down. You don't want him to see it.

He clears his throat. "I'll call one for you. A cab, I mean."

"Thank you." You make yourself busy folding the bedsheet. Gosh, this is uncomfortable and forced. You feel like you have far outstayed your welcome.

"Stephen. Leave it. I'll fold that-" He grabs the bedding. An awkward short-lived tug of war for the white sheet begins. It ends when you pull at it so forcefully that he trips and collapses onto the sofa panting with sweat breaking out over his skin.

You frown. There is no way Brendan is weaker than you. Not the old Brendan in any case. For the first time tonight he looks unwell. Like really.

"Are you okay?" You reach for him but he throws you a death glare that keeps you at arm's length.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look it." Something is wrong with him. "Maybe you are coming down with a cold or something."

He laughs at that; a dry ironic laugh.

"Or something." He mutters as he stands up gingerly and heads for the fridge.

He pours himself some water and drinks it all. "Fuck me, it's hot in here."

It's really not. He is unwell and he is covering it up. Not that you really care...

"Take some paracetamol or something." You suggest studying him for clues about what might be ailing him.

"It won't help, Stephen. I think you are right. I've probably caught a bug. It'll clear."

He sits down weakly, takes his phone out of his pocket and orders you a taxi. He can't get rid of you fast enough.

"How long are you going to be?" He says into his phone "... Make it five and you'll get a generous tip."

He excuses himself once he ends the call and practically dashes to a room that you assume is a bathroom. You wait in silence for him to return and look around his home more freely.

It is a high-end bachelor pad but there are personal flourishes; pictures of family and friends hang off a wall. You look at them in turn, the boys, Cheryl and her family, Paddy (his childhood friend), that Nikki from the restaurant, even Eileen is there. There are some people that you don't recognise presumably new friends he has made since coming to Dublin. There are two glaring omissions. The first is Peter who was once his best friend. You never did get to the bottom of why they stopped talking especially since Pete has been a great friend to you and helped with _PECKISH!_ for the last few years. The second is pictures of a significant other in his life. Brendan is still the eternal bachelor. There is something that saddens you about that. Has he not found someone of his very own to share his life with yet?

You turn your attention to Brendan's wallet on the coffee table. You have this overwhelming compulsion to look through it and find clues about what his life has been like over the last few years; what he has done, who he has done, whether he is happy.

You reach for it but just before touching it the intercom rings signalling the arrival of your cab. You step away from the wallet and Brendan emerges from the bathroom looking even worse than he looked moments ago. You are about to tell him that maybe he needs medical attention but it is not your place. Not anymore.

"Your taxi is here." He says superfluously.

The intercom begins to ring persistently so you walk to the door readying yourself to leave.

"See you." You say awkwardly.

"No, you won't." He replies. His voice is gruff. There is emotion there. That's reunions for you; they create falsely heightened emotions that are really just echoes of the past. That must be what you are both experiencing because Brendan is acting like he cares. "I'm sure you'll be glad to see the back of me."

_No_, _I won't_. But you don't vocalise your thoughts.

He clears his throat. "But for me it was..." He grips your wrist without warning and your subconscious screams at you to pull away but your stubborn body ignores it. "... memorable as always. And your food. Amazing."

You are transported through his words to another time...

xo

_**Six Years Ago...**_

There is nothing like a midnight snack to fuel a sexathon.

The aches, scents and echoes of recent coitus cling to you as you finish busying yourself around Brendan's kitchen dressed in nothing but your underwear. What you are feeling is a good kind of sore; the kind that makes you warm inside and puts a smile on your face.

'Here you go. _Bruschettas_!' You say as you join Brendan on his living room sofa with a shared plate of food. You swing your legs round so that they drape over his. He places a possessive hand on one of your thighs and picks up a piece of condiment-topped crusty bread with the other.

'Um!' He murmurs in appreciation, biting into the food whilst caressing your leg.

You smile and ask, 'Is that 'um' for me or the food?'

He chews thoughtfully, swallows, and pulls you into a deep, heart-stopping kiss that is olive, basil, mozzarella and tomato flavoured.

'This is amazing, Stephen.' He murmurs against your lips not clarifying whether he is talking about you or the food, 'Memorable.'

xo

_**Present Day...**_

"Say hi to your boyfriend for me." Brendan says with an edge to his voice.

"What's the point?" You say. "He doesn't know you. You are in my past."

You try to get out of there as quickly as possible before you say something you will regret like, _'I don't want this to be the last time I see you'_ or _'I don't know if he is my boyfriend anymore because I told him I loved you'_.

Brendan traps you before you make it out the door. His hands grip your elbows. His eyes lock in with yours and you know what's coming. You hear Rae, Pete and Amy's voices but they fade to mute as Brendan leans into you. _'You are better rid, Ste. Seriously. Onwards and upwards.'_ _'You have got to move on, mate. There are much better fish in the sea.'_ _'He is an animal. What kind of person leaves their loved one high and dry in their hour of need? If he were here I would give him a piece of my mind.'_

"It is better this way. You hating me." Brendan whispers over your lips as if he is speaking to himself. "I did it for you, Stephen."

You want to ask what he means by that but not as much as you want him to kiss you. With a complete absence of willpower your eager lips part under the lightest pressure from his.

His arms lightly circle your waist and your fingers comb through his hair. You groan when you feel the rub of his moustache on you, the incredible softness of his lips, the skill of his tongue teasing and playing with yours. You sigh as you melt against him relinquishing control of your body in a way you never do now-a-days.

You can let yourself go with this man. You miss this. You miss him. You feel like a thousand flames glow brightly in you.

And then you hear the intercom buzzing again. You snap back to reality and push him away gasping for breath while you touch your own tingling lips.

Without looking at him you pick up your wallet and run out of there.


	17. The Reunion Warren 4

_**Six Years Ago...**_

That twat with a 'tache chances it with you, "Foxy, I can give you £35,765 right now so long as you let him go. I'll give you the rest when he is safely home."

The fucking cheek. Brendan thinks he can call you at six in the morning on a Sunday without so much as a 'good morning' to tell you some bullshit.

_Uh. No, you Irish prick. That is not how this works, _you think. Not even Brendan motherfucking Brady can mess with you.

"Let me speak with him." He begs and that is like chicken soup for the soul. You love hearing him plead. But you are never going to compromise so you laugh and put the phone down on him.

The cackle dies on your lips the minute you end the call. Within seconds sleep claims you again.

xo

You wake up late at midday and check your phone straight away. John hasn't called to give you an up-to-date report on how things are going with Ste. That is against your agreement so you text him,

_Wakey, wakey, sunshine. I need a status update on the parcel a.s.a.p. Remember the kid needs to remain unharmed. _

You get showered and dressed and make your way to the club in search of Brendan. He isn't there.

"Thank God, Warren! At least one of you managers is here. You haven't seen Bren, have you? I've been calling him all morning." Chez says looking flustered and stressed. "He was supposed to pick up a delivery in Chester this morning. I had to send Rhys instead."

You shake your head. "No. Haven't seen him since yesterday."

"I've tried calling Ste to see if he knows his whereabouts but he isn't picking up either. I reckon they are both ignoring my calls! Hang on; do you think they're together?"

You grimace and shrug to convey 'how the fuck should I know?'

"No. You're right. Bren said they weren't going to be together this weekend. What am I going to do now? We're short-staffed. I'll need to ask Ste to come in if Bren doesn't show up."

Cheryl has literally gone red in the face.

"Ste?" You say._ Keep cool, Foxy._ "Really?"

She nods.

"Give the kid a break, Chez." You say calmly. "He practically lives here as it is."

She thinks about this. "Yeah. It's not fair, is it? I've been working him too hard, the wee poppet. But he said he needed the money, so..."

"Breathe, Cheryl." You touch her shoulder comfortingly. "I'll try and see if I can track your brother down if you want. I came looking for him anyway about a thing. Make yourself a cup of tea and chill for a bit, yeah?"

She gives you a grateful smile.

"Thanks. What would I do without you?"

You wave your hand dismissively before she walks off to the office.

You hear Brendan's voice downstairs moments later so you go to find him and see that Peter is with him in the otherwise empty bar area.

"Hello boys." You say with a wide grin. "Just the man I was looking for, Brendan!"

They both glare at you.

"Bad day?" You ask innocently.

Brendan strides up to you menacingly. He bares his teeth at you but says nothing so you whisper into his ear,

"Any update on your call earlier?"

"What call?" Pete asks behind him.

"Don't worry." The tache-man hisses at you quietly. "It will happen."

"Who's worried?" You say, hands in pockets. "I'm not the one who stands to lose something irreplaceable."

The anger vanishes from his face for a split second. It is replaced by pure sorrow. Shit. The hard man really has fallen in deep for weasel-face. He can't even hide it.

"What is he talking about, Bren?"

You glare at Brendan daring him to blurt the truth to his best friend but you know that he won't do anything to potentially harm Ste so he replies,

"Nothing. Just Foxy being Foxy." He pats your chest firmly and takes a step back.

You smile as if you are having the time of your life and move to leave.

"Where are you going?" He asks urgently.

"Mitzeee's. The girl needs attention." You wink. "But I'll be back at the club tonight. Why?"

"I'll have something to give you soon."

Your ears prick up. "Tonight?"

"Much sooner than that, I think."

You laugh. "That is what I wanted to hear. See what a little motivation does?"

You stride past them, pushing Pete's wheelchair out of the way so that he collides against a table and chairs as you head out of the club.

"Knob." Pete mumbles.

At the last minute, you turn to face them before you exit the premises.

"By the way, your sister is upstairs. She was wondering where you were. I think she was thinking of calling Ste if you didn't show to cover your shift. Thought you should know."

XOXO

You still haven't heard back from John despite calls and texts to him.

You had planned to go to the barn to check on the situation but you are concerned that Brendan is watching your every move now and will follow you to his lover.

Not a problem. You had anticipated this and put a plan B in place just in case. You haven't got to where you are without thinking three steps ahead.

Just shy of one pm you let yourself into Mitzeee's empty flat and take out your computer tablet. A few double clicks later and your screen shows you a panoramic view of the inside of a barn outside Chester.

You had set the camera up for exactly this reason and in case Brendan needed proof that his bloke was definitely in your possession. In fact, the only real need for John is to troubleshoot; water, feed, and allow Ste to pee and poo. He is a nanny, with a criminal past.

Thirty-six hours have lapsed since you last clapped eyes on Ste. You want to make sure that he is okay otherwise the cycle of revenge between you and Brendan will continue. And this is all about finally having one up on the Irishman.

The picture in front of you is a sharp greyscale image. Currently it looks like a still because nothing and no-one is moving in the frame. Ste is slumped on the floor on his side, blindfolded and gagged. His hands are tied behind his back but his legs are free. John is sitting on the dusty floor on the other side of the barn leaning on the wall. He is asleep with an extinguished fag still in hand. He has a dressing covering half of his face for some reason and his mobile and gun are by his side. The fucker. Why isn't he answering your calls when his phone is right there next to him? And why is Ste on the floor?

You haven't got time to see everything that has happened realtime so you rewind and look closely at the events as they unravel in reverse.

Between now and 10.13 this morning there is a lot of not a lot. Ste stays on the floor and John paces, smokes, looks over at Ste and sleeps.

At the 10.13 mark, John stands up. He rubs the barrel of his gun against his head as if relieving a headache. Meanwhile, Ste remains motionless on the floor. John looks over at Ste again, looks at his phone and then seconds later types a text.

Who the hell is he communicating with?

At 10.05, he walks backwards towards the chair in the centre of the barn. He appears to tip it on its side before walking backwards to Ste. Your hostage scrambles closer to his captor as a light kick to his ribs disconnects with his body. Then weasel-face lies curled up tightly in a motionless ball as John walks backwards from him to the barn door and through it. It closes rapidly so that Ste is alone inside the building.

From 10.02 to 06.17 the image remains virtually static again with Ste lying in the same position. That's nearly four hours without moving. There is a smudge on the floor near his head that is hard to identify; like a dark puddle of something. You hope it is not what it looks like. You really hope Ste is just sleeping.

At 06.17, one of his feet moves. You breathe a sigh of relief at the sign of life.

You press _pause_. You look closely at Ste for signs of injury other than the ribs which you know about (they'll heal). There is nothing obvious from the angle he is lying at. When you look closer you realise that his t-shirt is on the wrong way round and his trousers are unfastened. Looking around, the chair is tipped and a distance away from him and an empty can of baked beans and cup lie next to him.

What the fuck happened here and where is John during this time?

Your heart is in your mouth as you block-rewind by an hour and then press _play_ again to find out.

At 05.17, Ste is strapped into the chair you put him in on Friday while John is looking at him attentively. The kid suddenly squirms in his seat and his face scrunches up. He is blindfolded at this point but not gagged. The audio is not brilliant but you can just about make out what is being said.

"You alright there, sexy?" John says disinterestedly.

Ste grits his teeth, "I need to pee, please."

John chortles. "Have you suddenly developed a sense of what's proper? You pissed all over yourself yesterday."

You lean forward, paying attention to every detail on the screen.

"Uh. Yeah. But I couldn't help it before. I-"

"Jesus. You got a pout on you, haven't you?" John sighs and he lumbers over to weasel-face, gun in hand. He grabs hold of Ste's face by the cheeks and squeezes. "Cute face. Tight body. Bet you are a heartbreaker when you put yourself together."

You frown. That sounds like a suggestive line which is not only inappropriate but also unexpected given that the man is married with five kids.

"N-n-no." Ste stammers, shaking his face free of the vice-like hold. He has clearly come to your same conclusion. John is being a perv and he is scared.

John scans his eyes down Ste's body unbeknownst to the lad.

"Fine." The older man says, finally. "Just because you asked so nicely, I'll oblige. I'll get the bucket. Just don't think of doing anything stupid. I really wouldn't want to use my little friend here."

He touches the tip of his gun to Ste's lips and the kid pulls away petrified. "I won't."

Your accomplice releases Ste's wrists from the chair and helps him to stand before placing the metal bucket you got for nature calls in front of him.

"I've got a soft spot for you, kid, I won't lie." John says. "The wife always says that I am generous and giving to a fault and she's right, you know. I'm a giver, me!"

He runs a hand slowly up one of Ste's freed up arms and you feel a retch of impending doom. What the fuck is John playing at?

"Y-y-you have a wife?" Ste asks nervously, pulling his arm away.

"More like a parasite. Nagging all the time. Feels like I'm fucking a wind tunnel she is so loose after having the kids. And she has let herself go. At least she can cook. Small blessings."

"But you love her, yeah?" Ste asks quietly.

"How the fuck is that your business?" John sneers.

Ste cowers away from the voice behind him. "No. I m-mean, that's the thing about b-b-being with someone you l-love, I think. You s-s-stay with them because you have this b-b-bond that's unbreakable, like even when bits begin to s-s-sag or droop. Even w-when they are less than perfect. Because you love the b-bits t-t-that aren't perfect, too. You still want to be with them, innit?"

"What the _fuck_ are you taking about?" John says in disgust. He grips Ste's elbow firmly and directs him in front of the bucket. Weasel-face appears weak. You notice his shallow breathing and his frail, uncoordinated moves. He blindly holds his free hand out in front of him for balance.

"I-, uh, nothing. I just thought that-"

"Oh, shut up and piss already. The bucket's just in front of you." John lets go of his arm.

"S-sorry." Ste quickly unfastens his trousers and then pauses hesitating before pulling down his pants just enough to do what he needs to do. His buttocks remain discreetly covered.

Clearly he is creeped out by John and you can see why. From your objective perspective it is obvious how vulnerable a position he is in. John is a letch. He probably doesn't identify as gay but he definitely likes what he sees when it comes to Ste. He ogles the lad while Ste empties his bladder into the bucket. You feel like putting your hand into the image and pushing your accomplice away.

It's nothing sentimental but for business reasons Ste needs to be unharmed.

The lad shakes his cock dry once he is done and swiftly does himself up again.

"Done." He says. Then he pauses thoughtfully. "Um, J?"

"What?"

"Can I have something to eat please? I'm starving."

John laughs. "Changed your mind?"

"I haven't had anything since I got here."

John grins. "Sit."

Ste obeys immediately and sits on the floor just avoiding the piss filled bucket.

John passes him a can of baked beans. Ste opens it and holds onto the lid, using a hand to scoop the gooey beans and stuff them into his mouth. His actions are crude and animalistic, driven by hunger. You actually feel bad. You should have brought a spoon.

"Thank you." Ste says once he is done licking his fingers. He holds onto the can's lid, lingering over its sharp edge but drops the can itself.

"Not a problem, sexy."

Ste grips the lid tighter. He cocks his head to one side.

Wait. What is going through the lad's mind? You hope it isn't what you think. He shouldn't mess with John.

"Can I have some water, please?" Ste says softly. His voice is suddenly all sweetness and light.

_Fucking watch it_, you think to both of them.

"You'll be asking for pudding next." John scoffs as he turns his back to Ste to pour him a drink from the large flask.

Ste acts quickly, reading an opportunity to take action. He whips his blindfold off while getting to his feet and spots John a short distance away facing away from him with his gun in his belt.

_Shit. He is going to make a break for freedom. Not smart, kid, not smart,_ you think. You have seen the footage. You know Ste doesn't escape. What you don't know is_ how_. You are dreading finding out the answer.

He adjusts the grip on the tin's lid so that the serrated edge juts out ready to cause harm. That is when John turns around, "What the fuck?"

Ste lunges towards the bigger man and slashes his face creating a long bleeding gash across John's cheek.

"Argh!" John shouts and Ste grabs the gun while his captor clutches his face. He makes for the exit as quickly as he can. His speed is limited by his chest injury. When he gets there he tugs at the industrial sized padlock that keeps the barn's double doors closed.

John presses on his cheek with one hand while hobbling towards Ste. "You fucker! Get back here!"

"No!"

In an act of desperation Ste shoots at the lock repeatedly trying to break it open.

That is his mistake. He is not thinking like a criminal. He is thinking like a victim. Had you been in his position you would be aiming your bullets at the lumbering seventeen-stone man coming after you.

Instead the lad wastes his round of ammunition and wails in fear when he tries the door again and it still doesn't open. He manages to duck out of John's grasp when the big man approaches but then immediately doubles over in pain and falls to the floor. The excruciating pain he gets from his ribs as a result of the sudden movement incapacitates him.

John bends down and grasps his hair forcefully. He angrily drags him away from the door and towards the centre of the barn. Ste valiantly tries to fight him off while screaming in pain. He kicks out and scratches but he is disadvantaged in strength, size and current body fitness.

"Stop moving you little fucker!" John shouts.

"Let me go!" Ste screams hitting out with the gun in his hand, trying to dislodge John's fingers from his hair. He almost breaks free.

John's eyes harden then. He snatches the gun out of Ste's hand and swings it wildly. The sharp metal connects with the back of the kid's head. You hear a hard heavy thud. Ste's strangled choke is followed by his limp toneless body crumpling to the ground.

John is enraged. You can see that he has lost all sense of rationality.

"No one fucks with John Gaskin. No one. Not some faggoty kid. No one." He mutters while pulling at Ste's clothes.

Fuck.

What the fuck is John doing?

The kid is unconscious; completely unmoving. When Ste is stripped naked, John pushes him onto his back and gets between his legs. Ste stirs awake as the older man unzips his fly. A small pool of blood collects on the floor under the lad's head.

How bad is his head injury? He looks concussed, disorientated.

"No." He groans groggily pushing weakly at John's chest as the bigger man moves in closer to him.

Your accomplice laughs _sotto voce_. "You fucking bitch. I'll teach ya."

John spits onto his hand. Thank God the angle is such that you can't see the detail of what happens next.

All you know is that he moves to lie over Ste and pushes into him.

The lad gasps faintly, "This can't be happening..."

Then he lets out an almighty scream.

"Shut the fuck up!" John clamps a hand over the lad's mouth and begins to thrust into him ferociously. "Don't act like you don't like it. I know you take it up the arse!"

"Please stop!" Ste sobs weakly trying in vain to fight him off.

You get a wave of nausea all of a sudden and run to Mitzeee's toilet and retch into it. When you get back to your computer tablet you hear John's climax. In disgust you turn the audio off and watch the monitor again through narrowed eyes as he slowly gets off the boy and stands up.

He looks down at Ste in bewilderment as if he doesn't quite know what he has just done. He wipes his sweaty brow as he zips up his fly and points at the lad.

"Get dressed." He says breathlessly. "There's a good boy."

Ste groans and rolls onto his side, away from John.

John covers his mouth at the sight of congealing blood at the back of Ste's head and the smearing of blood mixed with cum an his butt.

"You're okay." The older man says shakily as the gravity of what he has done dawns on him. "Just a little graze hear and there. Not a problem. I'll help you." He rips off a bit of his t-shirt and roughly wipes the kid's crack with it, getting a moan of pain in response.

You turn the monitor off at that point. You feel overheated. You feel sick to your stomach. You feel angry beyond belief.

Ste looks fucked... in every sense of the word. And the worst part is that this all happened more than seven hours ago. All you know is that he has barely moved since John raped him. As far as you have seen he has only moved twice since; when his foot twitched at 06.17 and when John kicked him in the ribs at about 10 o'clock, presumably to check if he was still alive.

Your accomplice has probably been trying to figure out how to cover up his fuck up from you these last few hours. That is why he hasn't communicated with you.

What are you going to tell Brendan? How is this going to put you in the driver's seat? The Irishman will never let this go. Never. He will be after your blood once he finds out and all because John couldn't manage his anger and keep his dick in his pants.

You quake with rage as you call his number. This time John answers almost straight away.

"Where are you?" You ask.

"At the barn, why?" He says. He does a good job of sounding like nothing has happened.

"You haven't answered my calls."

"Sorry, boss. Didn't hear the phone."

"I'm coming over."

"Why? I've got it covered." His panic is showing. "Has the money come through?"

"Yeah." You say. "I need the package for the exchange of goods."

"Right." He says. "Okay."

"See you soon." You put the phone down, take your computer tablet and run out of your girlfriend's flat. Destination- Chester countryside.

As you step out of the apartment block and head for your car you forget, in your urgency, that you might be under observation.

Two pairs of eyes stare at you carefully and begin to make a move.


	18. The Reunion Brendan 4

**_Present Day (Day 4)..._**

You feel okay physically when you wake up so you decide to go into work. You know that there is a private event at _VIBE_ in the evening and when you call Nikki she seems on top of it so you go to _THE ELECTRIC _instead_._

It feels good to be back at work. You have a word with your bouncers about some trouble at the doors yesterday. The head barman informs you of a new drink on the market that he thinks is worth stocking. You speak to one of the domestics about the blocked toilet in the ladies bathrooms. You tell your regular handyman to do a couple of small jobs.

Then you go to the office.

With no distraction your mind wanders.

Six years have gone by without seeing Stephen and then suddenly there he was, like a bright flash of light in your life once again. When he told you that he had been with his Scottish boyfriend for five years you realised how your nearly two year relationship with him is insignificant and unimportant in comparison especially when you factor in how it was marred by violence at either end; from you at the beginning and Warren and his crony at the end.

Your relationship with Stephen was nothing but dangerous for him. You knew that. That is why you severed all ties with him in the end. The lad deserved more than you could offer him. You were smart enough to realise that. No wonder he moved on quickly after you left and never looked back.

_Brendan,_

_All this is finally behind me,_

_S_

Now you know that when he wrote that just a few months after the kidnapping he had already found the man that was to become his significant other.

Five fucking years.

It must be the real deal.

'_Say hi to your boyfriend for me.'_ You had said to him yesterday, consumed with jealousy.

'_What's the point?'_ He had replied with a steady, dead tone. _'He doesn't know you. You are in my past.'_

He was only stating the obvious but it still stung. Perhaps it hurt because while for him you're nothing but a memory, you still feel him present in your life; there just under the surface of your consciousness as your biggest regret.

You fucked everything up as you should have known you would when you first got together with him. You weren't designed for relationships.

XOXO

**_Eight years ago..._**

You have met Stephen a couple of times since you got to Hollyoaks a month ago. Cheryl has hired him to cater for her new club's opening night although his regular day job is as sous-chef at a local restaurant. You have barely exchanged glances with him never mind words. He is too unremarkable to register on your radar.

That changes on the opening night of _Chez Chez_.

You are doing what needs to be done in the name of keeping up appearances; flirting shamelessly with a bevy of long-legged, fake breasted, over-tanned, extension-wearing girls that litter the club. Your reputation as a lady's man has built up nicely in the village and you want to make sure your deception is alive and kicking. You target two of the easiest looking chicks and take them to the office for some harmless necking and a grope so that they will have something tangible to tell their friends. You leave them there for a couple of minutes and go to the bar. You need Dutch courage to follow through on touching soft female tissues, inhaling sickly perfumes and tasting the artificiality of painted lips. It isn't repulsive exactly but the whole experience is like eating dust. Not exciting. Not fulfilling. Not enticing. Preferably avoided.

You do it to hide your true desires. There's an example. The bloke in the corner of the dance floor. The one chatting to his friends but giving you the eye. He is in a simple brown t-shirt and blue jeans covering toned lean muscles. No bells and whistles. No fakery. Just a nice face, killer smile and hot body. You know a little necking and a grope with him would get the juices flowing, so to speak.

But you would never approach him. You would never let your urges get the better of you so close to home. Not in your sister's club. Not with people you know close by. You aren't stupid. You don't want people finding out about what you do and thinking you are queer. You are not. That is why you have to keep it a secret. They wouldn't understand that it is about relieving an unwanted itch once in a while...

It is while you are on your way back to the office, buzzing on four consecutive shots of whisky that Stephen saunters up to you, freshly fired and newly unemployed due to his own duplicitous actions. His slim frame is swamped by an ugly black tracksuit. He has that cocky air that comes with youthful naiveté.

He blocks your way.

"I saw you steal two bottles of your sister's champagne and take them into the office. We had them at _Il Gnosh_. They sell for at least hundred quid a pop."

His cheeks are flushed with adrenalin and his lips are full and pouty. Huh. How come you didn't notice that before? He has a cute face if angular. Nice energy. Limber looking body. Interesting. Definitely.

He steps into your personal space, toe to toe, in a manner that is designed to elicit fear. You smile. You don't feel threatened but you do feel that _itch_ when you smell him, cheap aftershave and all and feel his body heat radiate to you.

His stance is determined, staring at you with piercing blue eyes under a fan of long dark lashes. His bottom jaw juts out like he means business.

"Yeah and I doubt very much that she'd like to hear that you have been using her office to pull the local tottie."

The kid thinks he can blackmail you. He obviously doesn't know you. You determine that he is a bit of a scally. Breadline fodder. Looks like he could be trouble. Cute trouble. Very cute.

He is young though. Maybe eighteen, nineteen? Old enough to get past security but still too young, as in 'he-could-be-more-trouble-than-he-is-worth-because-teens-always-bring-emotional-drama-and-you-are-too-old-for-that-shit'. You shouldn't go messing with him.

You give him a cold smile. "You reckon I care what you think, kiddo?"

"No. No but I do know that you care what your sister thinks." His smile is smug. "So what positions have you got? You know anything to keep my mouth shut."

The kid's got balls and passion by the truckload. You'll give him that. And that Mancunian accent is strangely endearing.

Whatever. You are the alpha male, not him. The little fucker needs to be taught a lesson on who's boss... so you thump him so that he is knocked out cold.

There. Lesson delivered. It's a shame that you are still left with that itch. That fucking irrepressible _itch_.

xo

The next day you go to Cheryl.

"Hey sis, we need a barman, don't we?"

"You got someone in mind?"

"That kid..." You act like you are wracking your brain to remember his name but he is crystal clear in your mind. "...Stephen."

She looks thoughtful. "Has he got any experience? He seems a little green."

You shrug. "I'll train him."

xo

Stephen arrives on his first day of work with the enthusiasm of a puppy dog, keen to impress and please you, the bruise from your fist gracing his cheek.

"Thanks, Brendan." He says at one point while you show him how to change a beer barrel. "I promise you won't regret this."

You take in his eager face. "Make sure I don't."

He smiles so you smile back. Who said a little slap did anyone any harm? It seems to have done Stephen a world of good.

xo

He's chatty, that's for sure. Talks more in a minute than you do in a day. After a month working at the club you have found out quite a lot about him.

He is estranged from his parents having come to Hollyoaks when he was fifteen. A year later, he was sentenced to six months in a young offender's facility for crimes surrounding a car he had stolen. But he seems to have turned his life around over the last 2 years.

"I were dead stupid. Wasn't thinking properly, was I?"

He has a very close relationship with a girl called Amy. You can't wrap your head around it.

"She's ace! We went out but, like, that's in the past. Now we are bessie mates!"

Bessie mates with a twist. She is the mother of his children.

"Well Leah isn't mine by blood but she is dead cute and I have been her dad since she was five months old so..."

"But Lucas is yours?"

"Yeah."

"With Amy?"

"Yes. Duh!" The kids are clearly his pride and joy and you can relate to that.

"And you all live together."

"Um hum." He nods. "I'm a great dad, me."

"So, do you ever get tempted to take a walk down memory lane. Relight that fire with the missus. Get nasty and make another little Hay monster?"

He scrunches up his face in distaste. "Ew! No! Don't be weird. I don't think of her like that no more!"

Interesting reaction.

Interesting grin. Those lips. They are made for sinning. This stupid itch is doing your head in but you know you can't risk it with this lad. So that night you wander into Chester town. You can't have Stephen. No big deal.

As they say, there are plenty more fish in the sea.

xo

You micromanage him at work; singling him out and nitpicking at everything he does. It is unfair because he is easily the best barman at the club and one of the best you have ever worked with. You are strict because it justifies your compulsion to track him with your eyes.

You corner him for the nth time during a busy club night.

"Oi, Stephen. The crates? It would be nice if it was some time today. Tick tock."

The line of customers in front of him at the bar are five people deep and he is rushing around taking orders, getting drinks, making cocktails and ringing up bills. He stops rushing to whine at you,

"Brendan! It's been dead busy up here. I haven't had the chance to go down the cellar. Get Rhys or Jamil to do it or something. They've still got two hours on the clock."

"I asked you an hour ago."

"But you always ask me to do it! Jamil's only ever had to do it once!" He looks at his watch. _02.05._ He pouts. That pout... "And my shift is over."

"You think I'm being unfair?"

He doesn't say anything but his expression screams 'yes'.

You find yourself smiling and leaning over the counter to get closer to him,

"It's because I think you are the best employee we have on staff, Stephen."

His face lights up. "Really?"

"Yeah. And I thought you would do your old boss a favour."

"You're not old." He grins back.

"I'm thirty-two." You raise an eyebrow at him.

His grin broadens. "So? Like, I think you're in good shape. You know?" A blush graces his cheeks.

"Flattery, young Stephen, will get you everywhere."

He goes down to the cellar wordlessly. It takes him six trips to carry the heavy crates up to the bar then he restocks the bar. He didn't need to put the drinks away. He has gone the extra mile as usual.

Once he is done, he throws a quick look in your direction then grabs his coat and makes his way through the crowd towards the stairs to leave.

You feel compelled to follow after him and catch him on the stairs. "Stephen!"

He looks up at you apprehensively.

"Brendan, I really have to go now." He says tiredly. "Tomorrow it's my turn to get the kids to nursery, I mean, today. I really need a few hours' kip before the early start."

You look at the time. _02.55._ The kid has over-timed by nearly an hour and not asked for overtime pay.

"Here." You put three twenty pound notes into his palm, have a think, and then give him another.

"What's that for?" He stares at the cash and then at you; surprise brightening up his face.

"Loyalty bonus." You say. "You did good, Stephen."

He blushes. "Ta."

He grins and you want to punch or kiss him in equal measure. You do neither. There are punters everywhere. So you pat his cheek firmly and say,

"Good. See you tomorrow."

You spin on your heal and walk briskly back up the stairs to the office.

xo

He comes up to you on a quiet weekday afternoon two months into the job. He is all shy and hesitant, pulling at his sleeves nervously.

"So Brendan?"

"Yep." You listen to him with half an ear while checking the daily invoices at the bar.

"I don't suppose you have time to trial out a new DJ. It's for a mate of mine, Rae."

The way he says the name, lightly and breathlessly, makes you stop what you are doing and pay attention.

"She has been out of the picture for a while. But she is back in, if you know what I mean."

He smiles.

Shit.

You know what he means and you don't like it one bit. Who the fuck is this Rae? And why, with all the verbal nonsense that he throws your way on a daily basis, did he fail to mention her before today?

Your eyes shift to the stairs and land on a slip of a girl; blond with a high ponytail, large hoop earrings and angelic childlike face. She barely looks old enough to be weaned off the breast never mind DJ at a club.

You want to push her down the stairs.

"I see what you mean." You say raising an eyebrow at her. Rae needs to be taken out of the picture. You don't like the way Stephen looks at her. "Okay, let's see what she's got."

You listen to her spin some tracks. Stephen gets worked up to a dancing frenzy listening to her. He shakes his thing like there is no tomorrow glancing towards you with a smile as if encouraging you to join him on the empty dance floor. You don't. Instead you indicate her to kill the track.

She isn't bad. In fact, her mixing is flawless but her music is a bad fit for the club and more to the point you don't want her anywhere near Stephen.

"You were great!" He gushes at her. "Weren't she?" He looks at you.

"No." You say bluntly and proceed to trash her skills until she storms off angrily and he gets into a huff with you.

You tell him he should thank you.

"And how do you work that out?"

"She is only sniffing around so that she can get a gig."

"No, right. That's not Rae, though."

"Don't be a mug all your life, Stephen." You tug at the sides of his black jumper and run your hands down the fabric so that your knuckles graze down his front. He follows your movement curiously so you move your hands away. "She's trash. You can do better than that. Yeah?"

xo

Despite your cautionary advice he goes on a date with her behind your back. He doesn't even have the decency to look apologetic about it when you catch him in the act. It enrages you. There is a possessiveness you feel towards Stephen that you didn't realise you had.

Why is he fucking up the equilibrium? Things were fine before Rae came along.

You plan to get rid of her again. This time you frame Stephen so that she catches him in a compromising lip-lock with a girl you hired to seduce him at the club. It works. Rae feels cheated and runs off.

With the wannabe DJ out of the picture you see Stephen with new eyes. Every time he talks to someone you watch for signs of chemistry. Are they trying it on with him? Is he trying it on with them? What's to stop him from hooking up with anyone he likes?

He could be anyone's. That thought is unpalatable. It leaves you only one option; to make him yours.

xo

There are things in the way of having your way with him. At the top of the list is getting him to tune into the fact that it's going to happen. You wonder whether he has ever done anything with a man before. A gut feeling tells you that he would go there if gently coaxed.

There are other challenges. Your reservations about mixing work and play are still there but you ignore them. You are a man at the end of the day; led by your stomach and cock. Also, Rae reappears like a recurring, unwanted adolescent spot. According to Stephen they have 'talked about things' and are 'going to make a go of things' but are 'taking it slow'.

Then there is Macca. Your wife's nephew. The guy you have fucked once or five times. Maybe more. He made himself painfully available when you were in a period of carnal draught. He provided the warm friction you needed to achieve release when you needed but things got messy. He started talking about feelings so you beat him up to shut him up. Then you started fucking him again until your wife caught you in bed with him.

Messy.

That is why you left Ireland and why you punch Macca straight into a hospital bed when he decides to come to the village to declare his undying love for you. The guy never learns.

You hope that Stephen gets the score the way Macca probably never will. You really don't want to have to sort the bartender out if he falls out of line. You like him, if truth be told. He is sound as a pound and it helps that he is alright looking, too.

xo

You put work into getting to the point of scratching that itch with Stephen.

You invite him to a poker night. "Are Rhys and Jacqui coming, too?" He asks.

"Do you want to come or not?" You reply.

You bring him along to a couple of casino nights. You do closed door stock checks with him after lockdown and you share a drink or two. You give him rides home. You make him cups of tea during his breaks. You have a laugh with him. You even give him a sizeable cash loan to pay for Amy's first few months of college.

Weeks pass and you want to scream in frustration because, despite all your efforts, you are nowhere near getting into his pants.

That's not to say he is cold towards you. Quite the opposite. He seems to hover around you. It is obvious that he enjoys your company and there are times when you think there is more; like when he blushes at your benign compliments or asks details about your occasional 'dates' with women in the village. You detect his thinly veiled jealousy.

But he doesn't make a move and he has to be the one to try it on first. You conclude that he is either playing you, not reading your signs, in denial or straighter than a ruler. There is only one thing for it; get him drunk and alone. You aren't going to maul him but they do say '_in vino veritas'._ Alcohol has a tendency to loosen the subconscious free of its restraints. He might show you his true colours and if he doesn't react the way you want him to, you are going to stop this game of cat and mouse.

It has gone on long enough as it is and it is becoming more trouble than it's worth. Why are you bothering so much for a scrawy little gobby townie with a nice arse and wicked smile?

Guys like Stephen are ten a penny.

xo

Your boozy night with him begins as a night out and ends as a night in at your place.

You continue to ply him with your tipple of choice, Irish whisky, and he sings like a bird about everything on his mind. He mentions how he thought that you hated him at first but that now he feels like things are different.

"Sometimes I don't think of you as my boss anymore." He slurs.

"No?"

"Well, you don't hang around with Rhys like this... or Jacqui. But Jacqui is a bit different because you and her were like-"

He sticks his tongue out at you and wiggles it around making obscene tonguing sounds. Jacqui is one of the other bartenders at the club. You may have played a game of tongue tennis with her, all in the name of show. You had forgotten about it, the way you had forgotten to keep up your 'womanising' ways recently. Trying to get with Stephen has taken up all of your time.

He is so close to you now, teasing you unknowingly with that wet wriggling tongue. If only he could do that same action but on your...

"Well, maybe I like you more than Rhys." You say deliberately.

Something springs into his eyes as he scans your face at point blank range.

"Yeah?" He stares at you, pupils dilating, a blush covering his cheeks.

"Yeah." You say. "And with Jacqui. It was nothing."

Your gaze drops to his lips involuntarily. His blush deepens and he moves away and shakes his head to sober up. His eyes are sluggish and you realise that you too are a little drunk. You are dropping your guard. You've got to be careful not to fuck this up. You cannot make the first move. It could spell big trouble if Stephen turned out to be a solid zero on the Kinsey scale and he pushes you off him in disgust. He could tell everyone.

He drones on a mile a minute. Fuck knows what he is saying but when you see him smile, you smile too. You look down at the rest of him. The lad has made an effort tonight and dressed up in what you suspect is his Sunday best. The wedge of skin peeking through his neck is lightly tanned and the vein there flutters like a trapped butterfly.

"-I never feel up for it anymore."

Your ears prick up as you tune into what he is saying.

"Up for it?" You ask although you suspect you know what he means.

"Well tonight I was feeling _up for it!_" He emphasises the words leaving no confusion as to their meaning. The lad is horny. "Do you know what I mean?"

You stare at those lips of his. The potential... "Yeah. Yeah me too."

"And it's a shame." He sighs.

"A shame?"

"Yeah." He turns on the sofa to face you. His knee brushes against your thigh and he studies you as if not sure how to say what he wants to say next. "We are friends now, yeah?"

"S'pose." That's one way to define it. "Yes."

His eyes widen and he smiles briefly. "Like, you aren't going to have a go at me at work no more, are you?"

"Was I making your life a misery?"

"I thought you were never going to give me a break." He whispers. You feel his warm breath on your lips.

"Maybe you proved yourself." You whisper back. "Did yourself proud."

"Have I?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." He says softly.

You hold your breath as his eyes migrate down to look at your lips.

_Fucking kiss me already_, you think, because at any moment you are going to snog the living daylights out of the kid and that would be catastrophic.

He takes in a sharp breath in then crushes his lips to yours.

You expect it to be just a quick benign peck but he tumbles on you, circling his arms around your shoulders, pulling himself flush with you while his tongue tries to burrow into your mouth. It is as if he has been craving this for months and knows this is what you have wanted for weeks.

Before you are tempted to rip his clothes off and have your wicked way with him, you push him off you and he falls to the floor with a thud. He blinks up at you, shocked at his own actions.

You stand up and, with revulsion etched on your face, you rub your mouth with the back of your hand.

"What do you think you are doing?" You ask angrily.

This way he feels like the pervert, the deviant; not you.

"Sorry." He says, flustered. He runs out of your flat in embarrassment.

Your blood is pumping. You feel a rush through your entire being that pools in your groin as you stare through the open door of your flat.

Fucking high five.

Stephen wants you. You want him. You can finally scratch that itch... and all from a position of control.

xo

You are surprised at how sexually naive Stephen is for a guy who has had sex with at least a couple of girls and fathered a son. You discover this the first time you do it with him in the cellar of _Chez Chez_ the day after your kiss.

You tell him to go and fetch some crates then follow him, locking you both in the damp dimly lit room. You approach him. He is uncertain around you after your reaction to his advances last night. The poor lad doesn't know what you want so he backs away from you using the crate in his hands as a physical barrier.

You take it off him, put it to one side and trap him against a pillar.

He is close and your body responds to his tantalising proximity.

You kiss him lightly then smile at him. He looks baffled for a second searching your face for answers to his questions. Then passion takes over and he kisses you back ferociously. You would like to say you take your time but the truth is weeks of pent up frustration have made you impatient. You encourage him out of his clothes. You are surprised he goes with it but then that's horny adolescence for you.

He has the decency to go red when he realises he is butt naked in front of you when you are still fully clothed. He shivers under your gaze and covers his groins with both hands.

"Um." He keeps his eyes firmly on the ground.

You touch him, covering his body with yours, running your hands over his back and buttocks pushing him to you so the rigid length of his cock presses against your thigh. He automatically wraps his arms around your waist and smiles at you, coy. He is so turned on already and you haven't done anything yet. You kiss him again because you can and because his lips are to die for.

He giggles when your mouth begins a journey down his neck, across his collar bone. You lift his arm and burrow your face into his armpit. He laughs even harder and pushes you off him.

"Tickles!" He gasps.

Fucking hell.

You kiss him to shut him up and drag your hands down his body to grip his hips. He gasps again but this time out of arousal when one of your hands boldly grasps his cock and pumps it teasingly. He is baffled by your forwardness,

"Oh!"

Your willingness to touch every part of him, finding no part unworthy of exploration, makes him blush. You drop to your knees. He looks like he is going to bolt but you grip him and lightly swipe your tongue over the underside of his cock; a preview of what is to come. Unsurprisingly, he stays put.

"Oh, wow!" He moans when you take him into your mouth. His cock is a pleasant surprise, thick and generous. You deep-throat him and he practically shouts the club down with every dive of his cock down your pipe.

You lift off him and growl, "Shut the fuck up, Stephen! I'm going deaf here."

His screams become muted moans as he bites hard on his lower lip. He cums so violently that a spot of it lands on your red shirt.

Fucking great. You rub it off.

He doesn't last long. That's youth for you. He has a sated expression, closed eyes and blissful smile. The lad can barely stand up straight. He will learn to hold out longer next time. You'll make sure of it. But for today you are fascinated by how present, responsive and uninhibited he is. Stephen is going to be fun to play with that's for sure.

He looks down at you in wonder while rubbing his face. "That were mad, Bren! Wow!"

You stand up wordlessly. What the fuck were those girls doing to him? Clearly, not enough. Your effort was adequate at best. The boy might have died of pleasure if you had brought your A game.

"I aim to please."

You then push him down onto his knees, release your cock and push it towards him.

He looks up at you shyly so you stroke his cheek in encouragement. He grips the base of your cock, seeking your approval with a glance before flicking his tongue out to hesitantly lick it like a faddy eater trying some new exotic food for the first time. He licks his lips and smiles as if it has passed his palate test then tries to imitate the moves you used on him moments ago.

He isn't fantastic but you don't expect perfection on his first attempt. Your cock has a close encounter with one of his incisors but he does a commendable job otherwise. He gets a gold star for effort. His mouth is warm, sleek and accommodating. He creates a perfect seal and vacuum which is admirable. He palms what he is unable to get into his throat in his hand, fisting it in time with his tongue swirls and head bobbing. He tries to mix it up as best he can. Eventually he groans loudly when he tastes your precum and the vibration radiates through your cock.

You hold his head to your groin and feel his throat tighten around you as he gags. You release streams of cum into his mouth grunting hoarsely as you orgasm. He automatically swallows and looks up at you as you come off your high. The little git looks dead smug that he has managed to get you off. It is as if he has had an epiphany. The lad didn't know it could be so good.

He will flip out when he realises this is just the tip of the iceberg.

You pull him into a kiss but he stops you. "No. That's well weird, you know, after..."

He points in the general direction of your now flaccid cock and licks his lips. He is worried about sharing a cummy kiss. You laugh gently at him. He is kind of cute being all coy and shy. So you help him to his feet, grab the back of his head and whisper,

"No. It's fucking hot," before pulling him into a hard kiss, tasting yourself on him.

xo

The first time you fuck him is part hilarious, part frustrating, part what the fuck. You are at his place lying naked in his bed in broad daylight. Stephen is dosing having been subjected to one of your premier league blow jobs. The kind that turns legs into jelly. With time, you will become familiar with his post-coital somnolence. Sex takes it out of him.

"It's not going to happen, Brendan." He says sluggishly as he shuffles in his sleep giving you a hard slap in the chest as you lie next to him.

_Ouch. __What is he dreaming about?_ You wonder.

You flip him onto his front and he mumbles incoherently then goes back to sleep while hugging a pillow. You trace your fingertips over his back which glows golden in the sun that shines through his bedroom's window.

Stephen is the perfect twink; slim but robust. Not hairy but it is body hair where it matters; a light brown on his pits, groin and treasure trail. You like how it contrasts with your dark more pronounced courser body hair. When you get to his arse you lightly caress it and then kiss and bite each cheek.

That wakes him up.

"Oi." He mumbles.

You ignore him when he wriggles his bum to displace you. You use both hands to keep him still and part his buttocks to reveal his tight pink untapped hole.

He cranes his neck to peer at you.

You are kneeling upright over his legs. "Can I help you?" You ask innocently.

"What are you doing?"

"Research."

He blushes. "Um. No."

You imitate his hesitation. "Um. Yeah."

"I've never done that before." He says softly. "It's not going to happen, Brendan."

You smirk. Those the words he mumbled in his sleep a few minutes ago. So that is what he was dreaming about when he smacked you while sleeping; trying to avoid being fucked.

How pointless. It's inevitable.

"You never bartended before either. Look how well that worked out for you." You give him a big goofy grin and he grins back. "And all because you had a great teacher..."

You raise a cheeky eyebrow at him. He stares at you for a long moment.

"Okay." He says eventually and relaxes back into the bed. His tousled hair catches the light as he runs a nervous hand through it. "Just, you know, don't do anything sudden."

That's it. Just like that. Consent. _The lad is amazing_, you think and suppress the over sentimental thought immediately.

You settle more comfortably over him and begin a trail of kisses down his back. Stephen groans and hugs his pillow, arching up to your touch as you make your way down to his butt. You pull his hips up so that his arse is in the air tempting you with its smooth firmness.

"I think you are going to like this." You whisper thickly. You blow over his hole and he shudders.

"Don't lie. It's going to hurt." He replies bluntly and you have to stop yourself from laughing.

You slowly run one hand over him and he rocks his butt up to you rather than pull away, the wanton hussy. He wants this. He is just nervous.

His cock is rock hard but it doesn't hold your interest right now.

Your tongue swipes over his hole and he gasps. You lap at him almost teasingly with barely any pressure until he is writhing under you, pushing up to you and trying to get his hand to your head to encourage you closer. So you oblige and up the pressure. He moans encouragingly rotating his hips rhythmically against your lips and tongue.

He wants to get fucked. His brain just doesn't compute it yet because he has never been there before.

"Please, Brendan!" He whines when you pull away to look at his gleaming wet arse hole.

"Please what?" You ask, horny as fuck and ready to dive right in.

He looks back at you in confusion. His face says, _'How should I know? I'm new at this.'_

You hold his gaze while your wet fingers glide over him.

"This?" You whisper.

He sighs and rocks up against them so you pour a generous amount of lube onto him and slowly coax a finger in.

He clamps down against it, hard.

Fucking _ouch_. He is really tight.

"No." He hisses. He looks nervous all of a sudden. The shock of being penetrated for the first time is overwhelming. "Take it out."

"Out?"

Shit. Really? Maybe this is too soon for him.

You begin to pull out slowly.

He sighs then he groans like a kitten's satisfied purr in his chest.

Then he pushes back up onto you. "Wait! Yes!"

"Yes?" You pull it out completely, confused.

"I mean, don't stop." He moans, "You can do it again but slowly." He whispers.

You feel him relax every muscle of his being so you gently try again and slowly fuck him with a single finger.

Fucking hell, this is going to be a long night, you think. He can't make his mind up what he wants as his mind battles the urge of his body. You are all too familiar with that struggle.

Any doubts that you may have had that this is not his first time are gone. Nothing has been up the lad's arse before.

His eyes roll back in his head. "Yes, Bren!"

When you add two more fingers to the first, one at a time, his indecision comes into play again. He tenses up, panics, then relaxes and enjoys. The back and forth is exhausting and bewildering to you.

Eventually, after plenty of encouragement and lube he gets into a nice little stride, fucking himself on your fingers; pushing back onto them. Writhing. Moaning. Turning you on. At least he is happy now. More than happy. Time to make you happy too. Your cock is throbbing and ready to go.

You pull your fingers out and Stephen whimpers in disappointment.

"No! What are you doing?"

You quickly slip on a condom and slap his butt soundly. He huffs and pulls away before sticking his arse up at you again. He glances at you and your sheathed cock then buries his face into the pillow.

You press against him and start to push in.

He goes completely still and quiet; his body tense.

"Breathe." You say heatedly.

"Okay." He mumbles into the bedding and exhales loudly. His body relaxes allowing you to bury yourself deeper in him. You take your time. Patience now pays later.

You kiss his shoulder and push until you are all the way in. He breaks into a fast pant and you know he is feeling a sting and burn. You gently run a hand over his back to appease him. It will get better. Stephen reflexively contracts and relaxes around you hissing lightly when you thrust into him. You stop moving. Too soon. He needs to adjust.

His chest and head collapse into the bed, arms splaying to the side, so that only his butt sticks up. You grip his hips tightly and hope he is ready for you to get going soon. You bite your lips to keep composure.

Eventually he must feel something good because he grinds himself back onto you and emits the filthiest groan.

"Alright?" You ask through gritted teeth. Your body screams at you to fuck the shit out of him already.

"Yeah." He whispers and moans into the pillow. "Yeah, I think so."

He reaches for his own hard cock and starts pumping. That is enough encouragement for you to get thrusting slowly. Stephen feels just right around you. Too right. You feel a build up tingle in your balls almost immediately. Too soon. So you count back from a hundred in groups of seven.

You can't go and embarrass yourself by cumming straight away.

xo

You are not one to romanticise a basic physical act but sex with Stephen is incredible. It makes you shudder just thinking about it.

You use his body at will, pleasuring him and yourself through sexual encounters that occur mainly at your homes or the club. You are frantic and rushed one minute then considered and languid the next. It depends on your mood. All you know is that you have a complete inability to control your urges when it comes to him.

You give him nothing but your body, though. You are a miser with your heart and soul. A scrooge. You tell yourself that it is because you aren't a faggot. You convince yourself that Stephen is merely a vector for release like the men before him. Purely physical. Easily replaceable.

He doesn't seem to mind at first. He is just keen to learn the joys of life between the sheets with you and boy is he eager; pillow-biting, toe-curling, arse-baring, dick pumping, moaning, sighing, writhing. You have visions of tying him to your bed so that he can be there at your beck and call; that is how addictive he is.

You get comfortable with the status quo. You beckon. He comes. You fuck. He goes.

But that is all ruined one day right while you are fucking him.

He grips you to him, shaking with need, red and sweaty from exertion and whispers,

"I love you, Brendan!"

You are immediately stunned into inaction then reflex kicks in. You punch him right in the ribs when still balls deep. That is how much his words mess with your mind. The sound of his bones crunching brings tears to your eyes.

Why is he ruining a good thing? Why is he acting like some queer boy? He has to know the rules. If he doesn't then this is what he faces and you hate doing this to him.

Stephen scampers away from you wheezing and grasping his chest. His shock at your act of violence is hard to watch but it is necessary. It is for his own good the way your dad's fists were for yours. They teach.

"Never say that again, you here?" You hiss at him angrily.

He nods briskly, unshed tears glistening his eyeballs. "Sorry."

He gets dressed gingerly.

You reach out to embrace him. You want to hold him because he looks lost and confused.

"No." He cowers from your touch. He whispers, "I'm going."

xo

He avoids you for a week. He doesn't come to work. He ignores your calls. So you finally pay him a visit at home. You want make sure he isn't too hurt. You need him to understand why you did what you did. You want him to come back to you. The club is going to pot without him and so are you. Nothing soft, it is just that you have gotten used to having him around. You try to convince yourself that it is just about sex but it isn't. There is more to it than that but you don't entertain it because you can't become the 'good for nothing faggot' your father predicted all those years ago.

So you bury any 'feelings' you might have deep until you forget about them.

Anyway you somehow persuade Stephen to give things another go. The fool. He should run a mile. You are dangerous with a capital D. Instead he plays a dangerous game of Russian roulette with you. He gets fucked so good he can't walk straight because it when you feel most connected with him. But then, on occasion, he gets beaten so badly he can't walk straight because he forgets that this is a secret affair that is nothing more than an itch to scratch.

You wonder why he stays with you sometimes. You stifle him. You don't give him what he wants. You hurt him occasionally. He never says the words that started the cycle of violence.

'I love you, Brendan'.

He knows how you will react if he does_. _Broken ribs aren't fun.

xo

Of course he leaves you and you don't even see it coming. No. That's not true. You ignored the signs because it was easier than facing them head on.

You stopped hitting him. You figured that would keep him. You stopped because he stopped getting emotional and because after knocking him about you found you couldn't sleep. You felt like the world was over and you wanted to leech the pain and injury that you caused from him and smear it all over yourself. His physical pain tore you apart.

You should have paid more attention to his emotional pain.

Stephen reaches breaking point because of it.

"I can't do this no more, Bren." He says defeated. "I can't."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't care about me, do you?"

"Fuck's sake."

His face is red with emotion, his eyes full of unshed tears. "This is what I mean."

"Then why did you bother sticking around this long?" You say.

"Because I loved you but I couldn't even tell you." He shouts in upset. "God, I am such an idiot!"

_Loved_. The use of the past tense isn't lost on you.

That's why he stayed?

That is why he put up with your shit?

And you repayed him with forced aloofness and secrecy.

"I am leaving you, Bren." He says. "It's over."

You harden up against his words although something shatters in your soul. Your words are caustic. "How does that work exactly? Things can only be over if they started."

xo

You tell yourself it is no big deal that he is gone because things had only ever been _purely physical_ and Stephen was _easily replaceable. _He must have been brainwashed by words from Rae and Amy, who both know that you are fucking him. They are fantasists who have poisoned his mind with images of date nights, hand holding, dessert sharing and public displays of affection. It isn't long before he finds all of that fluffy stuff with some benign camp gym bunny called Noah.

You hate his new 'boyfriend' with a passion. Seeing him with Stephen is like a direct kick to your balls, painful and unnecessary. He has no right to put his hands on your bartender, whisper into his ear and make him smile.

You are consumed with a level of jealousy that you have never experienced in your life. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. It makes yours go insane. You chip away at their relationship, planting seeds of doubt and driving a wedge between them. Your attack is systematic and unrelenting until it is beyond repair.

Noah is history.

YOu count to ten and then try getting back with Stephen again.

He takes you back quicker but he has terms and conditions. He is tougher and wiser than before, more mature, ready to speak his own mind and challenge you. Ready to walk away if you fuck up again. Zero tolerance. You are intrigued by this man. He reminds you of the feisty Stephen you once knew, right at the beginning. You like it.

But he scares the shit out of you when he begins to tell you, unapologetically and unreservedly, how he feels about you. His eyes challenge you to shut him up. But you don't. You grit your teeth and listen to his words. So sincere. So open. So exposing. So pointless...

_'It isn't just when we, you know, um, do it. I love being with you, Bren, like when you joke with me or when we hang out at the club and talk. I like that I can tell you about my kids and my stresses because you understand what I'm going through.'_

'_I missed you today.' _

_'I love your smile.' _

_'I want you to stay tonight.' _

'_I love you, Brendan.'_

He loves you. He still loves you. Why does your breathing seem easier when he says that, for fuck's sake? Your soul is invigorated.

After some time you crave him telling you those words at the end of a long taxing day or when you miss your kids or when you've had a row with your sister or a run in with Foxy. It is a cure all remedy to life's ailments.

You loosen up and change, subconsciously, from the inside out and you know that Stephen is the reason.

You call him to say you want, no, need to see him. You make it your mission to make him laugh so hard that he snorts at the end when he has had a rough day at work. You enjoy teasing him into a full blown pout only to wipe it away with a kiss. You look forward to offering middle-of-the-night critique on his newest culinary invention only to see his face crinkle up with pride and smugness when you say you approve. You have choice words and a ready fist for any bloke or chick who tries it on with him. You are cool with the relaxed and carefree bond he shares with your sons.

When did that happen?

When did Stephen become completely entangled in every part of your life; work, family, social...? You can't see an aspect of your life that isn't touched by him and where you wouldn't miss him.

xo

After nearly two years together many people know about you as a matter of fact (Cheryl, Linsey, Warren, the _Chez_ Chez staff, Pete, your kids, his kids, Eileen, Mitzeee and of course the original two, Amy and Rae). In addition, most of the village speculate that something is going on. It is the worst kept secret in Hollyoaks history. You don't care as much as you thought you would. It is just the way it is. He is the constant itch that you have to scratch; that you can't let go of. Well, maybe not an itch. Something better than an itch. Maybe.

_Maybe I should tell him_, you think to yourself when he shuffles up to you in the night in his sleep and you curl an arm around him drawing him near. You think about it a lot. _I should tell him that I care._

Chez thinks you should and more.

'_You are frustrating, Bren. Three little words. That's all. Ste would be made up. You should swallow your pride or bury whatever notion you have that the world will come tumbling down if you say them.'_

Amy thinks so too.

'_There is nothing worse than saying I love you and not hearing the words back, Bren, especially when it is so obvious that you do love him._'

Of course you don't take their advice.

The thing is you honestly don't know if you love Stephen. What does love mean anyway? It sounds so vague and amorphous. You have never experienced it before. You aren't talking about the love you have for your sister or your children. That love is clear. It is automatic. It is bound by blood. You are talking about the love you are meant to feel for someone who comes into your life and enriches it and you irreversibly.

How do you know if what you are feeling is love?

And if it is who says you are ready to say the words. As irrational as it sounds you _do_ feel like things will change irredeemably if you do; admitting your love for another man will be the final nail in your gay coffin. The prospect makes you feel trapped, not by Stephen but by the label and what it represents. Your enemies will see it as a weakness and your affection for another man, a weapon in their favour. You would be exposed. Stephen could be in danger. Danny Houston reminded you of that and you need Stephen safe. You can't lose him.

So maybe it is better not to think about it and keep it simple. Just accept that you want him in your life and he makes you feel good and you don't particularly like it when he isn't around.

Simple.

One night, at the end of a busy club night you sit him down. You tell him it makes perfect sense for him to move in with you because he is there and you are here and really you should both be here. You crack open a bottle of champagne. Your nervousness is killing you but you don't give that away. You wait for his reply.

He says yes.

XOXO

**_Present Day (Day 4)..._**

There is a knock on the office door. It's Cheryl and she has her youngest boy in tow, a sleeping six-month old Alessio.

"Hiya Bren." She says as she drags the pushchair in before her.

"Alright?" You say suspiciously as she takes a seat on the chair opposite the desk. You suspect she has received a tip off about yesterday's supper from Declan. Nosy cow! "Bit soon to take your son clubbing."

She snorts. "Funny."

"What brings you here?" You ask.

"Quick hello." Chez says softly looking at you closely. "You look a right fright, love."

"Thanks sis." You say drily. "Tea?"

You don't wait for her reply as you stand up to turn on the kettle, put teabags into mugs and bring out some biscuits.

She nods and smiles. "I'm just saying. What's happened to my gorgeous brother? You look like you have been run over by a bus and then shot twice. You okay?"

You grunt.

"And you haven't come over in three weeks. We only live down the road. Where are you hiding?"

"I've been busy."

"I popped into _VIBE_ because I thought you might be there. Declan says you haven't been at work for a few days."

"You spying on me?"

"No." She smiles slightly. "My boys miss their uncle."

Cheryl has three boys and she is ten weeks pregnant with her fourth child according to a scan done a few weeks ago. She and that Italian husband of hers seem to be on a mission to double the planet's population.

"And I miss them too. Really I do. Being used as a climbing frame. Having my moustache tugged all day. Being called an incontinence pad."

Seamus, the middle child, calls you Uncle _Tena._

She laughs. "I think it's cute."

"Yeah. That's cute."

"Okay, I'll cut to the chase." She goes all business. "I know Stephen is in town and went round to yours last night for supper."

"That Declan." You say without surprise. You pour some boiled water into the mugs and a dash of milk in each. You both like your teas strong so you hand your sister her mug with bag still in and place the biscuit tin on the desk between you.

"How was it?"

"You mean how Stephen and I reacted to seeing each other again?"

"Yeah, I guess."

You eat three biscuits in a row. You are hungry. Stephen's lasagne yesterday was incredible but it met an ugly end just before he left when it became a victim of your nausea. The vomiting was torrential. You covered the fact from him as much as you could with toothpaste, mouthwash and a splash of water to your face before joining him again to say goodbye.

"I kissed him." You confess into your mug. Why the fuck did you say that? You take a deep breath in then out.

"Stephen?"

"No. The other bloke I had over." You say sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes at you. "In front of the boys?"

She leans towards you gripping her mug with both hands.

"No. They left." You shake your head. "Stupid move anyway. Pointless."

"Why do you think you did it then?"

You look at her and decide to be honest. She is the only person in the world who really gets you and knows the most about you anyway.

"I wanted to. Couldn't help myself."

"What did he... I mean, how did he react?"

"Kissed me back." You think back to his clawing hands, insistent lips and acquiescent sighs. "Yeah."

"Jesus, did you sleep with him?"

"No. Taxi came. He left."

Cheryl places a hand on your wrist. "Brendan, please don't get pissy with me but do you think that maybe you still love him?"

You lean back to place your head on your chair's headrest and stare at the ceiling.

"What makes you think I ever loved him, sis?"

"Don't be daft."

"I'm serious, Chez."

She stays quiet for a moment. "Okay. You asked so don't get upset about what I am about to say."

You look at her. "I won't."

"And don't interrupt because I am going to tell you a fairy tale."

"Seriously?" You roll your eyes at her. "I'm forty not four."

"Brendan. Sush. Promise you'll listen."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

She looks horrified at your words.

"Don't say that." She whispers angrily.

"Say what?"

She shakes her head. "Never mind. Let me tell you the story about a King and his Knight."

"Fucking hell." You groan.

xo

Once upon a time there was a boy; I'll call him Prince Brendan, heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Brady. His father was King and ruled the land with an iron fist. Since the Prince's birth the King was unduly tough on his son. He never showed he cared and beat Prince Brendan regularly. The reason was that the King knew that his son was different and he wanted to show the boy how to be a 'real man' because what he was wasn't good enough in the King's eyes.

The Prince never felt worthy of his father but made it his aim in life to try and live up to his expectations. He copied the King; walking and talking like him, being like him. Brendan needn't have worried what his father thought, though, for the boy was loyal, strong, handsome and smart. He was ten times the man his father was. You see, the real reason behind the King's actions was jealousy. Brendan's sister, the beautiful Princess Cheryl, saw it.

Unfortunately with time the Prince grew up to be a young man that was just like his father; tough, uncompromising and lacking in mercy.

When the King died and Prince Brendan took the throne, the town people feared him as they had his father. Deep down this saddened the new King but years of acting 'like a real man' like his father had taught him had clouded his judgement.

As time went on there were times when the King feared that the truth would reveal itself. It was just under the surface ready to burst out so he worked even harder to cover it up.

One day His Majesty met Stephen, a squire of the court training to join the knighthood. The young man had remarkable skills with the sword. The King felt a deep and instant connection to him, something he had never felt before. King Brendan didn't understand his emotions but they felt more natural than the hard emotions he acted out every day so expedited the squire's transition into knighthood and Stephen became his right hand man.

Though devoid of an official court title, the Knight was never far from the King's side even when they were fighting against the mighty Kingdom of Fox.

During these battles the King felt immeasurable fear and concern for the young man's wellbeing despite knowing that the Knight was one of his finest. It took everything for King Brendan not to check every inch of the Knight for injury when they returned from battle.

At the end of such a day, Stephen walked into the King's private chambers to report on the details of the day's battle. As the Knight walked in he saw the King in a state of undress. He jumped with surprise at the sight before him and the King quickly covered himself with a gown and commanded the young man to leave in anger and shame.

Stephen, however, disobeyed the King's orders and approached His Majesty cautiously.

The Knight slowly disrobed from his battle-wear to his undershirt and breeches. He smiled then and silently lifted his shirt up revealing his torso. He then turned to face away from the King.

An explosion of feathers burst forth from his back as two large brilliant white wings cut through his skin and spread out wide as if about to take flight before settling down so that the tips skimmed the floor.

He turned back to the King,

"We are alike you and I, Your Majesty." Stephen seemed jubilant; not disgraced or ashamed at all.

The King was shocked. Not only was the Knight he had grown fond of not a real man but Stephen seemed completely unconcerned about the fact.

King Brendan's own jet black wings lightly fluttered with indignation.

"I am a man." He said emphatically, willing his wings to regress into his back as he had trained them to do over the years.

"So am I." Stephen said and smiled. His wings flapped broadly by his side in an elegant display that mesmerised the King.

His Majesty had never dared use his own wings. They hung limply from his back on the few occasions he was alone and allowed them to reveal themselves. In those times he wished he could cut them off but knew, from past experience, that they were tougher and more sensitive than any other part of his body.

"They are nothing to be ashamed of, Sire. It's called _Ala_. That's Latin for wing. This isn't an abnormality. It is a gift."

xo

**_Present Day..._**

"Jesus, sis. Can you get to the point?" Brendan says in exasperation. "I do have other plans this year."

Chez gives you a glare. "The story is the point."

"'Kingdom of Fox'? Really? 'Wings'? Fucking hell."

"Are you going to interrupt me again?"

"No."

"Good. Listen."

xo

The King still felt ashamed about his secret but he admired Stephen who was entirely unselfconscious about his wings.

In the privacy of his chambers the King, following the Knight's gentle coaxing, would allow himself to be as he was born. Stephen would show the King how to move his wings until they grew strong and flapped as powerfully as the Knight's. King Brendan would catch his reflection in his wash basin and wonder at the shine and elegance of his feathers. He would feel pride that his conscious self would try to squash.

During the day, the King would crave those stolen moments with his Knight where he could be who he truly was. Where he could be free of his shackles.

The first night he took flight with Stephen by his side was one he would remember forever. The swell in his heart was unparalleled. He was completely in tune with his body and who he was when the wind hit his face as he sliced through the air. They soared towards the heavens together, a tangle of black and white flutters, only to nosedive towards the sea at the edge of the Kingdom skimming the cool water at speeds the King could only dream about without flight.

"Why can't we be like this always, Sire? Free. Unrestrained. What is the harm? There are other men and women like us but they live in fear because of the rules set by your father and propagated by you. That is why _Ala_ is only done in secret. That is why they are hidden from you tell the masses that it is normal then it will be so."

But the King couldn't change the habits of a lifetime. The ghost of his father haunted him and the constant threat of enemies and the fear that they would be see _Ala_ as a weakness stopped him.

"I think you use excuses, Sire. How does revealing you have _Ala_ make you weaker? I believe it will only make you stronger."

The King considered and considered and considered.

One night, he summoned his trusted Knight to his private chambers.

Without hesitation, once alone they produced their _Ala_ and immediately felt more relaxed. The Knight bowed low and said,

"His Majesty called."

"Yes." The King said. "On the morrow we go into battle for the final time against the Kingdom of Fox. I command you to stay in the castle. I will not have you on the battlefield."

"Sire. I must protest. I am the best swordsman you've got. You need me on that field."

The King took in the determined features of the young man before him. He wanted the Knight safe and unharmed.

"I need you here, Stephen." He pointed at the floor of his inner chambers.

"Sire, every time we go into battle we risk our lives but we do so for King and Kingdom. You yourself stand on the frontline with your men. Who am I to lie softly in the shadows while my King fights?"

"You are my closet friend." The Kings said earnestly. "You are..."

"Then I shall ride by your side as always and if I perish I will die proud to have served you to my dying day."

The King alarmed. "You shall do no such thing, Stephen! Your King will never let you expire for his cause, not while he lives and breathes."

The young man gave his King a wry smile that was wise beyond his years. "You can promise no such thing, sire. To me you are as powerful as the sun yet even it cannot be present to light our paths, warm us and help our harvest grow every moment of the day. It too must rest."

On the day of battle, the King stood in front of his army. His speech was brief; a call to the masses.

"We men of heart! We men of strength! We go forth hopeful and come back victorious!"

The roar of his army was deafening; voices shouted, spears hit against shields and horses neighed.

King Brendan was oblivious to it. His eyes were set on one man alone who stood in the front row of the cacophony, smiling up at him.

The pride that shone from Stephen's eyes gave the King inner strength and clarity of mind. Through the cheers and chants of his subjects he began to take his armour off.

The crowd's noise died down and even Stephen looked at him with surprise. The king fixed his eyes on his Knight and a moment later his large black silky wings sprouted from his back, flapping strongly so that he hovered off the ground for a second before landing softly again.

"This is your King!" He bellowed, revealing his true self to his subjects.

They were all stunned into silence.

After a long pause, Stephen too showed his _Ala. _He rose to the skies and flew to his King standing by his side. Soon other knights and soldiers showed their wings too. Their cheers were loud and eventually joined by those who didn't have wings. The truth was out.

The King was finally at peace. With his knight by his side and wings on display, he led his army to battle.

Unfortunately, the fight was a bloody one. Both kingdoms lost many of men and women.

The ones left standing fought bitterly to the end.

As dusk drew near and exhaustion set in the King turned to his side. He screamed a cry that could be heard the kingdom over when he witnessed Stephen get knocked off his horse after being stabbed by King Warren's right hand man in his side.

The Knight fell to the floor, his wings springing out instinctively as he hit the ground. He tried to gain flight but Sir John, King Warren's right hand man, jumped on top of him pinning him down. The big brute raised his spear above his head ready for the kill, overpowering the Knight in his injured state.

King Brendan's actions were quick and instinctive. He took flight and swooped towards Sir John and-"

xo

"Stop Cheryl." You say abruptly. "Enough."

Your sister looks at you cautiously.

"Don't mention that bastard's name."

"Who's? John's?"

Your face contorts in pain.

"Sorry." She says.

"I don't want to hear anymore of your story."

She nods. "Okay."

Alessio stirs awake and starts whining from the confusion that is the transition of sleep to wake. You automatically pick him up from his pushchair, pull him onto your chest and rock him. He nuzzles into you and falls back asleep.

Chez says, "My point is that you loved Ste because you saw no end to what you would do to protect him from harm. And because he brought out the real you, Bren, and not by demanding it or coercing you. Maybe love is also when you find someone who makes you soar so that you become something so much better that you could have ever hoped to be and it is because they are right there in your life."

You blink back tears. Fucking emotional sister. Where does she get off having an opinion?

"This is a pointless conversation anyway. He has a fucking boyfriend, sis. Five years together."

"I know." She says. "I know. I'm not saying this is easy and people won't be hurt but you would be daft not to give it a shot. What is the worst that can happen to a big man like you if Ste rejects your advances? You can brush it off and go back to your string of seriously inappropriate twinks."

She looks at you and gives you a small smile.

"Life is too short to live with regret, Bren." She takes the baby out of your hands. "He is staying at the O'Callaghan Davenport, by the way, and he'll be at _VIBE_ tonight."

"How do you know?"

"Your son is a chip off the old block. He has done some digging around."

She places her sleeping son into the pushchair again and then turns to you. There are tears in her eyes that she tries to hide.

"What's up?" You ask. "You aren't going all emo over your brother's tragic love life are you?"

You pull her into your arms and she begins to properly sob, like 'someone has died' type of sobs. That is when it dawns on you.

"She told you." You say numbly.

She sniffs into your shirt and the wetness seeps through the thin material to touch your skin.

She nods and mumbles into your chest. "You should have told me."

She continues to bawl.

"She shouldn't have told you." You say. "It wasn't her place."

"Don't blame Nikki. She is devastated. I caught her crying her eyes out at _VIBE._ That was shitty of you leaving her alone to grieve without being able to tell anyone."

"Sorry. I was a little busy trying to get my head around the cancer." You say sarcastically.

"We are family. That's what we are here for."

You push her away.

"What do you mean 'we'?"

Your sister stares at you with red shimmery eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bren, but Declan knows, too."


	19. The Reunion Martin 4

_**Five years ago...**_

In some ways your relationship with Ste moves slowly at first. You don't fuck for the first three months; as in all the way, balls deep stuff. You know why he won't let you go there with him. You understand and exercise a patience that you didn't know you had. Toby would be shocked by your restraint given the nature of the relationship you had shared with him.

Three months in, however, everything changes. He tells you he loves you. He lets you fuck him. And within weeks you ask him to move into your apartment in Chester. He says yes.

After six months together, he weans himself off his anti-anxiety medications. A couple of months after that, your friend and trusted colleague, Alfie, discharges him from their psychotherapy sessions.

During this time you discover Ste's humour and quirkiness, how amazing and dedicated a father he is to the family he has created and how loyal he is to his friends.

You find him strangely traditional when it comes to family values. He is a 'one man' man, pouring his all into your relationship. You have never experienced anyone like him. He doesn't do anything by halves.

After a year together you are disappointed to find out, through a random encounter with Amy, that he doubts his contribution to your relationship.

"You know he is grateful, right? It's just that I think he wants to feel like he can stand on his own two feet. You are doing well for yourself, Marty, but for Ste the waiter job isn't what he wants to do forever. He is very aware of how little he can contribute to you financially."

Ste works at the one Michelin star restaurant called _La Maison de Lily_ located in Chester's city centre. You took him there for dinner once and he applied for a job there the next day.

"What's the big deal. We are a couple. We are supposed to share what we have, right?"

"He says you refused to accept some of the money he got off his aunt."

"The inheritance money from the mysterious dead aunt?" You say.

Strange story that. A lawyer called Ste out of the blue and said an aunt that Ste didn't even know existed had left him some money.

'_Bit weird that, innit?'_ he asked you.

'_Yeah.'_ You said.

'_What do you think I should do?'_ He asked.

'_If it all checks out, then it's not a bad lump sum of money to have in your back pocket for a rainy day.'_

'_Yeah. I suppose.'_

"I don't need that money. He should save it, invest or spend it on his kids." You tell her. "I don't know why he is stressing about who is spending what when he should be chuffed to bits that he can drive himself to work, do a whole shift, have a laugh and come home without having a panic attack."

She smiles sympathetically. "It can be hard to be proud of that sort of achievement when you are dating an overachieving, multilingual, fit, intelligent and super-sweet boyfriend."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Why, Miss. Barnes, are you flirting with me?"

She giggles. "No! I'm sure Pete would have words if I was!"

You grin. "We wouldn't want him to call off your wedding, I suppose!"

"No!"

"Look, I'll talk to Ste tonight if it's really bothering him." You say.

"Just tell him to stop stressing." She throws you a lopsided grin. "And tell him how happy you are with things as they are."

You give her a suggestive grin. "Maybe I'll show him how much I value him!"

She goes red as she gets your meaning, throwing her hands over her face in a move that reminds you of Ste. God, they hang out so much they have adopted each other's mannerisms.

"Oh! Martin! Oh!" She says coyly.

xo

When you get home at the end of the day you are welcomed by delicious aromas coming from the kitchen. Ste is singing loudly to some dance-pop diva's track. You lean in the doorway and watch him sway his hips while constructing a culinary masterpiece. An apron is secured around his slim frame. He has a spatula in hand and gives some sauce-broth-reduction-coulis thingy a stir then uses it as a microphone.

He becomes another person when he is cooking; determined, creative, confident and relaxed. You smile. He suddenly stops his dancing and singing and turns towards you with mild embarrassment on his face.

"How long have you been there?"

He lowers the volume of the track.

You walk up to him. "Long enough to see you bump and grind, thrust and do that thing that looked like a chicken flapping."

He looks at you, affronted. "Oi! That was a boss move that. I invented it meself."

You grin and try to imitate him. You know you look goofy with your two left feet but it has the desired effect. He laughs at you.

"Stop! My eyes are bleeding!" He gasps through loud gleeful cackles as you attempt a running man on the spot.

You join in his laughter and suddenly grab him around the waist and lift him up, twirling him around a few of times before depositing him on the ground. He is rigid in your arms, his face a picture of distress, pupils dilated and eyes bulging.

"Stop!" He tries to shove you away, breathing deeply in fear. He fights against the restraint of your arms in panic.

He has had a flashback; a residual of his post-traumatic stress disorder. Something in the way you touched him triggered an unpleasant memory but you are not having him run away from you.

"No." You say and keep your arms around him. "I am not going to hurt you, Ste."

Like other parts of his life he needs to retrain his brain into knowing that any touch of yours is never going to result in harm to him.

You trace down his arms with your hands and settle into a ballroom hold with him. You sway your closely moulded bodies, kissing his forehead and then temple. He is so tense in your arms. It is heartbreaking.

You whisper into his ear,

"I think we make a great Fred and Ginger, don't you?"

After a while you hear him sigh and feel him relax a little.

"I don't know who you are talking about."

You start to sing badly. "Heaven, I'm in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek."

He nuzzles up to you, conforming his body to yours. "You are being cheesy."

"I know." You say and circle an arm tightly around his waist. You continue to move him on the spot. "But you have to see it. It's from a musical called _Top Hat_, that song. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are in it and they are simply delightful."

You think he is smiling when he says, "You can be very gay sometimes."

"Sue me. I like musicals." You grin.

He sniffs. "Sorry for freaking out."

"It's okay. It's not your fault." You say resting your cheek on his hair. "So what are we eating tonight?"

He glances over at his saucepan with its bubbling liquid and his face drops. "Shit!"

He shoves you away again and pulls it off the flame. He looks at it as if his own kid has been thrown onto a bonfire. His spatula is back in hand in a flash and he stirs while swearing under his breath.

"I think it's ruined." He mumbles then samples it with a teaspoon. "No. It's fine."

"What is it anyway?" You ask, already salivating.

"Red wine reduction to have with our beef steaks." He says. "With potato rosti and roasted Mediterranean vegetables."

"Ste, be honest, are you a feeder?"

"Huh?"

"Are you trying to make me fat?" You ask with a grin.

"Are you worried I won't want you anymore with a tummy and man-boobs?" He teases.

"No. Because I know that you are only with me because of my big dick."

He blushes and laughs. "Yeah. That's the reason!"

"Thought so. You are so superficial, Stephen Hay. You can't imagine how it feels to be treated like a piece of meat."

He giggles.

While you look at his spead of ingredients, all neatly arranged and prepped in the kitchen counter, you recall your conversation with Amy.

_'He is very aware of how little he can contribute to you financially.'_

"Ste, have you ever thought of cooking professionally?"

He narrows his eyes at you. "Like how?"

"Like becoming a chef."

He stares at you like he does when you start 'speaking foreign'.

"No." He gasps.

"Why not?"

"Because, I'm not good enough." He hesitates. "Because..."

"You were once a chef..." _Just before you met Brendan._

"Caterer, maybe, for like a year... ages ago."

"Then why not get trained up." You say suddenly, as your idea builds in your head. "Chef Stephen Hay!"

He could be incredible.

He laughs and places the meat into a pan. "Have you been drinking?"

"Always." You joke. "Seriously, though. Ask Chef Hugo if he has a place for a _commis_-chef at the restaurant."

"What do you know about _commis_-chefs?"

You grin. "I do listen to you, you know, once in a while."

"He'll laugh me out of the kitchen, Marty." Ste says but you can tell that he is thinking about it. "Plus, I'm just a waiter."

"So cook for him and astonish him." You say.

He tries to hide his smile. "Oh, I don't know."

He presses on the steaks to get a sense on how cooked they are and turns them over.

You raise a cheeky eyebrow. "By the way, I'm going to need a work out after eating this."

"Okay."

"With you."

He groans. "I don't fancy going to the gym, babe."

"Who said anything about the gym?" You give his bum a squeeze. "I hope you are feeling energetic, Mr Hay, because we are going to try some high impact aerobic exercise in a bit."

"I'm listening."

"In the bedroom." You smile. "Clothing is optional."

He grins. "Thought so. You and your one track mind!"

XOXO

_**Four years ago...**_

Weeks later you invite your family down from Scotland for a weekend to meet him. You are dying with nerves; desperate for them to love him as much as you do.

"What a sweet boy, Marty!" Your mother gushes with her slight Hispanic twang and broad hand gesticulations. "And that beef wellington... Dios mío! I hate to admit it but it might be better than mine!"

"He is going to catering college part-time right now, so." You say proudly.

"Sounds like a keeper! Doesn't he, _mi amor_?" She turns to your father, a blue collar man of few words.

"He seems like a nice lad. Does he make you happy, son?" He asks, gruffly.

"Yes, dad. Very."

He nods, "Then that's good enough for me."

You sigh with relief at their approval but then your sister, Kate, pulls you out of your living room and into the adjoining corridor. Even though you tower over her in height, she is five years your senior and she has always been parental with you. It is her opinion you are worried about most.

She hisses at you, "Who are you and what have you done with my kid brother?"

"What do you mean?" You ask innocently. Ste has re-entered the living room from the kitchen and is having a chat with your parents next door.

_I hear our son has taken you to the villa in Barcelona. _

_Yeah, a couple of months ago. It were well fun. You have a beautiful holiday home, Mister and Missus McCallister. _

_Please call us Fred and Carmela. Have you __met the neighbour?_

_Señora Carillo? Yes. She's well nosy, in't she?_

Dad laughs_. Aye, that she is! __I tell my wife that all the time!_

"What's this?" Your sister says, gripping your cheeks to get your attention back from eavesdropping. She points at framed wall photos of you, Ste, his kids and your friends which cover a wall on one side of the corridor. She then peeps into an open bedroom you have converted into a children's room complete with toys for when Ste's kids come to stay. "He has kids!"

"Yep."

"Let me get this straight, you have never formally introduced a bloke to us, not even Toby, before."

You shrug.

"You've been with Ste for what, a year?"

You nod.

"And you couldn't commit to a haircut until a few months ago." She says.

"That's not true. I was with Tobes for nearly four years."

"In an open relationship. That's like committing to not commit. Doesn't count. So what's the deal with you and Ste?"

"What do you mean?"

She smiles at you knowingly. "Don't play dumb with me, bro."

"We are exclusive, if that's what you are getting at."

She smiles. "Wow. And you haven't run a mile even though he comes with a package deal of two children under the age of five."

"They are great kids. Really well-mannered, fun and polite."

She looks at you as if you have grown a second head. "Has he drugged you or something?"

You roll your eyes at her.

"I think I owe him a drink. You are all grown up, lil'bro. Monogamous. Domestic. Never thought I would see the day."

"He doesn't really drink much."

"Oh." She peers over at him. "He is cute in a strange way."

"Sure."

"Fun."

"True."

"Motivated."

"What are you getting at?" You narrow your eyes at her.

"Tobes said that it was love across your counselling couch. Isn't that against the hippocratic oath or something. 'Thou shalt not fuck your mental patient!'"

"Jesus, Katie!" You say. "Firstly, I am not a doctor so I don't subscribe to the hippocratic oath. Secondly, the politically correct term is 'patient with a mental disorder'. And finally, why the fuck were you talking to Toby?"

"i don't normally but he called me when you dumped him."

"Can we not talk about this right now?"

"Talk about what?" Ste says. He walks up to you both.

"Nothing." You say quickly.

"Actually, I was just about to say how I haven't seen my brother this happy in ages." She says. "I am going to put it down to you."

He looks at your sister and smiles cautiously. "Your brother is really special to me."

"He is to all of us." She says seriously.

You feel Ste reach for your hand.

"So you can understand how I wouldn't want anything or anyone to hurt him." She adds.

"Katy!" You chastise.

"Yeah, 'course not." Ste says. He rightly senses a tinge of animosity from Katy. "I get how you might be a little cagey about someone coming into your brother's life."

"Don't worry she's just being overprotective." You tell him.

"You have nothing to worry about," Ste says to her, "I love your brother."

XOXO

_**Three years ago...**_

After a year and a half of working as Chef Hugo's apprentice, Ste is now his _sous_-chef. It is a meteoric promotion and reflects the close bond the two have formed. You know that it is purely professional and based on a shared love of food but you would have been much happier if the Frenchman was older, balder, fatter and less charismatic.

Ste comes home late from work one day which is not unusual since his promotion. You are already in bed when he tiptoes into the bedroom, undresses quietly and slips in next to you thinking you are asleep. Normally he calls even if he is running five minutes late. It is a thing of his ever since the abduction. He has to log his whereabouts with someone just in case something happens to him en route.

But tonight he seems to have overlooked that fear.

"I was getting worried about you." You say into the darkness.

He jumps in shock. "Shit! I thought your were asleep!"

"You didn't call to say you were running late."

"Oh yeah. I forgot." He shrugs in the dark. "That's good, right? Me not being a stress-head."

"Where were you?" You ask.

He sounds excited and exhilarated, "At work. Today Pierre said that I remind him of him as a junior chef. He said that my level of skill is _parfait_!"

_Pierre_? Since when are they on first-name terms?

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm well good, me!" He says beaming at you. "He asked me to stay back afterwards so I made him this dessert. Like a posh version of Manchester tart. Totally on the spot and he loved it."

"Did he now?" There is an edge to your voice. Jealousy. Um. Curious. Not a feeling you are familiar with but you have felt all sorts of new feelings since getting with Ste.

"Yeah and then we spent some time experimenting with different flavours."

"Just you and him, after hours?"

Ste cosies up to you and nods. "He says he wants me to help him come up with the restaurant's new signature dish."

"Did he ask anyone else?"

Ste smiles slowly as the significance of your reaction dawns on him. "Are you jealous?"

"No."

"You should be." He says. "He tried it on."

Your heart stops. "He did?"

"No, silly! He has a girlfriend."

"Oh."

"You are crazy, you!" He says teasingly. "Why would I want anyone else?"

"I don't know." You say with grin. "Why would you? I am pretty much the total package!"

"God, you are so full of yourself!"

"I was thinking, and this is in no way related to the fact that I thought Chef had designs on you, maybe you should set up your own business. Like a small restaurant. What do you think?"

"I think that I am too tired to have this conversation and that I am only halfway through my training."

xo

Amy backs you up. And Pete. In fact, you all agree that it could be something to invest the inheritance money in. Pete is happy to invest money into the business too as a silent or active partner.

Ste mulls it over. The scared twenty-one year old PTSD sufferer would have said 'no' outright. The new Ste gathers you, Pete and Amy round him a week later and says,

"So basically, I am not saying I am definitely doing opening a restaurant or anything, but if I did I couldn't do it on my own because I am bad with numbers and things. I would need an accountant to help me balance the books and an interior decorator to make the place look good. People I trust."

All three of you grin at him. You say, "Yeah. That makes sense."

"I could help with the accounts." Pete says helpfully.

"And I have an eye for what looks good so if you want I can decorate the place." Amy adds.

Ste nods seriously. "And I don't want a restaurant. I want it to be a bistro."

"That's a great idea, Ste." You say hopefully.

"I know." He says. He produces a booklet out of nowhere and opens it up to the first page. "I have some ideas. Number one, I would call the place _Peckish_. What do you think?"

xo

The official opening night of_ PECKISH!_ is by invitation only. Many of Ste and Amy's friends from Hollyoaks attend as do his children, his mentor, Pierre Hugo, and former colleagues at the restaurant. He serves up a three course meal designed to show off the bistro's menu. When he emerges from the kitchen in Chef's whites with his _sous_-chef at the end of the night he receives a standing ovation.

You are bursting with pride. You smile when he blushes at the crowd's plea for a speech.

"I am not very good with talking." He starts.

"Liar!" One of the guests says. "No one can shut you up!"

"Thanks, Doug." He grins. "What I mean is that sometimes I find it hard to find the right words. Thank you so much everyone for coming today. I really hope you enjoyed the food and atmosphere." The guests cheer in appreciation.

"There is no way in a million years I could have done this alone. I am so lucky to have people who have pushed me in the right direction, supported me and helped me along the way. I wouldn't be here without them. So I would like to raise a toast to my good friend, Pete, and the mother of my two beautiful children, Amy, who have been hands on from day one of this venture and will continue to be my right and left hands."

There is another cheer.

"And finally I would like to thank someone who was there when I was in a really dark place in my life. He saw through the sad, terrified person I was when I met him and helped me grow into the person I am now." He looks over at you. "Martin, I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you. I don't mean here, here. I mean on this Earth. You have been amazing and every day I thank my lucky stars that I got the nerve to step out of my house and into your office. I love you."

He walks up to you and folds his arms around you. He feels more solid to you somehow; not so much a man that needs protecting but one that can stand alone.

Mission accomplished. That is what he wanted.

"I love you, too." You say. You feel a tug on your knee. You both look down to see Lucas wrapped around both your legs, He looks up at you with a wide sauce covered smile.

Ste laughs and picks him up. You wipe the sauce off the wriggling three-year old's face with a napkin.

"You having fun, champ?" You ask.

"Yes, Matty." He nods and then asks, "After this can I be a chef, puhweez?"

"After what?" Ste says in amusement.

Lucas points his pudgy little hands at the seated guests.

"When everyone says bye-bye. Can I puh-weez make chocolate cake, daddy?"

You grin. Ste occasionally gives the little man a bowl and spoon with something or other in it so that Lucas can stir and beat away while keeping Ste company in the kitchen.

"Not tonight, champ. Maybe another day." Ste kisses his son's forehead.

"Your daddy has made a cake for everyone already. You and Leah get to have the biggest pieces." You say, ruffling the kid's blond hair.

"Okay, Matty." He says, sweetly and sleepily in his father's arms.

You hear Ste gasp all of a sudden. He takes a step away from youlooking behind you as if he has seen a ghost. The person in the doorway is someone you have never seen before; a busty girl with big blue eyes and blonde hair styled into ringlets that cascade down to her shoulders covering rather large hoop earrings. She has a sense of fashion and taste for costume jewellery that you would expect to see on a blind woman stuck in the eighties.

"Cheryl." Ste says. Anguish is etched on his face as he hugs his son to him.

"Hiya, love." The woman says taking a tentative step into the bistro.

Who the fuck is she?

Amy is angered by her presence. "What the hell is she doing here?" She whispers to Pete loudly enough for you to hear her venom.

The room goes quiet as everyone turns to stare at the late uninvited arrival. The Hollyoaks crowd seem to recognise her.

"Alright, Chez? Long time no see!" Says the guy Ste referred to as Doug moments ago. "How's Dublin treating Brendan?"

Your boyfriend turns ashen at the guy's words and Pete throws Doug an evil glare and says, "Shut up, Doug."

You feel your throat close up. He called her Chez, as in _Chez Chez_; the club that Ste used to work in back in Hollyoaks. You remember a pink neon logo emblazoned on a black bloodied t-shirt.

This must be Cheryl Brady, Brendan's younger sister.

What the fuck is she doing here?

"I should have called but..." She says in a strong Ulster accent that you can't rationalise. You were sure Ste said Brendan was from Dublin.

She glances over at Pete, who ducks his head.

"You told her about tonight?" Ste asks him in angry accusation.

"No." Pete says in a small voice.

"I just wanted to congratulate you, babe." She says taking another step closer to where you are. You are not sure that she has registered you at all. She is staring so intensely at Ste. "I am so proud of you."

"Don't." Ste passes you his boy without looking at you and raises a halting hand to her. It is shaking. "Does_ he_ know about this tonight?"

You frown at his question.

"Brendan?" Cheryl shakes his head. "No, he doesn't know I am here."

"I want you to leave." Ste says abruptly. "You aren't welcome here, Chez."

"Ste." Pete protests. "It's not Cheryl's fault..."

"She is his sister!" Your boyfriend spits out.

"Ste, he misses you." Cheryl is crying.

"I don't want to hear it." Ste replies. He closes his eyes, releasing tears too and covers his ears in a manner that reminds you of his daughter. The guests are looking at the scene with dropped jaws.

"I get why you are upset, love. But, you don't understand, Ste." Cheryl says as tears run down her cheeks. "What happened... Brendan... It's not... I mean..."

She surveys the room of captive listeners. Peter gives her a sharp look and her shoulders slump as if in defeat. There is something she wants to say to him but can't in front of the group of gathered people.

She pleads, "Don't hate Brendan."

Your boyfriend's fist connects with a solid wall. You are stunned by the force of impact. "I SAID I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT, CHERYL! NOW FUCKING LEAVE!"

Lucas covers his mouth and Leah closes her ears over their father swearing.

Cheryl is visibly shaken by Ste's outburst. You actually feel a little sorry for her but she has upset Ste and that won't do.

"I think you have done enough damage tonight. Please go before this becomes an even bigger scene." You say.

She stares at you for the first time, and sees Lucas wedged comfortably in your arms. His little head is tucked into your neck while he sucks his thumb and stares at her with wide curious eyes.

Recognition flashes through her face when she then scans between you and Ste.

"Oh. Right. I am sorry." She hiccups and wipes her tears. She looks at Ste and says,

"This was a mistake. It will never happen again."

She runs out of the restaurant and is followed by Pete who rushes past you in his wheelchair trying to catch up with her.

Ste storms off in the direction of the kitchen. When you make a move to follow him Amy stops you,

"I think it might be better if I go. Keep an eye on the kids, will you?"

You nod, numbly. So much for the past staying in the past. It has been shoved right into your face.

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 4)...**_

Your presentation to the gathered audience of fellow psychotherapists and affiliated professionals in the large auditorium is drawing to a close.

Right now you feel like a fraud giving a speech on a subject that you are a national lead expert on. You feel paradoxically under qualified.

"A person affected by post-traumatic stress disorder has not only been through a most unimaginably harrowing event, he or she then has to re-experience it time and again, unable to escape it as it follows him in his daydreams and sleep. It is a cycle of relived trauma that seems impossible to break and prevents him from moving on with life as he once knew it. He becomes avoidant of situations that trigger flashbacks. He locks himself indoors or immerses himself in work or hides within safe relationships and situations. He feels less than whole and all because of an event that was unexpected, painful, agonising and out of his control. All because he has been violated and left broken and battered; emotionally, mentally and physically."

You envisage three different Stes. The wispy, frail and defenceless one you met for the first time in your office. The happy, carefree and healthy one you proposed to. And finally, the distant, broken one you left your hotel room this morning with your engagement ring lying next to him.

An awkward cough from the audience snaps you out of your daydream. You zero in on Toby. He is looking at you with wide eyes as is witnessing a car crash in slow motion.

_Are you okay?_ He mouths.

No. You are not okay. You have fifteen more minutes of talk left but you are over it so you draw your talk to an end.

"So in summary, factors associated with a good prognosis include rapid engagement of treatment, early and ongoing social support, avoidance of retraumatisation, positive pre-morbid function, and an absence of other psychiatric disorders or substance abuse. Two-thirds of people with PTSD who undergo treatment make a full recovery and lead a satisfying quality of life. The current evidence suggests that trauma-focussed psychotherapy, EMDR, behaviour therapy and antidepressants are all effective in treating this condition with no treatment modality being significantly better than the other. I, personally, have found psychotherapy with or without SSRIs very effective. We, as psychotherapists, can help make a difference to a mental health condition that can be totally cured if not managed. Thank you."

The audience clap and the chairman, puzzled by your abrupt finish, walks up to you on stage. He addresses the audience.

"Thank you, Martin McCallister, for a concise up-to-date overview on PTSD. If you have any questions for one of the UK and Ireland's leads for this condition please feel free to ask during our Q and A session at the end of the day."

He shakes your hand and you walk off stage and straight out of the room. Toby is right behind you following you into the lobby outside.

"What was that?" He whispers loudly in his clipped received pronunciation accent once he stops you in the coffee lounge just outside the auditorium.

"What?"

"That." He points towards the auditorium.

"A lecture."

"It went to the dogs towards the end. Looked like you were having a break down." He looks closely at you, "... I hope you don't mind my candour."

You rub your eyes tiredly. God, you feel exhausted. Wrung out. "You were never one to mince your words, Toby. Don't change on my account."

"Were you referring to Ste? Is he still symptomatic? Is that what the trouble at home has been about?"

"No."

Toby nods slowly. "So what is it then?"

"Huh?"

"The problem between you and Ste."

"Nothing."

Toby suddenly grabs your hand. "Why aren't you wearing your engagement ring then?"

The observant fucker. You snatch your hand away. You can't make eye contact when you say, "I left it at the hotel."

"Why?"

"Toby, don't take offense but you are probably the last person I want to have this conversation with."

"Then I shall persist until I find out what's troubling you." Toby says, "Did someone break the rules?"

You don't get his meaning so he clarifies, ticking off the fingers of one hand in turn.

"Complete disclosure, honesty about all encounters, advance approval of partners, no sex with complete strangers."

You catch his drift. "We don't need rules."

You have never even entertained an open relationship with Ste. You simply couldn't stomach the idea of someone else's hands on him; setting his senses alight, making him writhe, purr, sign and groan like he did for you. And equally you couldn't imagine another man turning you on the way Ste did.

"You are exclusive?" He sounds incredulous.

You nod.

"See, now we are getting somewhere. See how good it feels to share."

You give him dagger eyes.

"He must be pretty special. You couldn't be monogamous for me, remember?" You hear the tinge of sadness in his tone and you feel like a right shit.

"Did he cheat on you?" Is Toby's third guess.

He is closer to the truth with that theory. No, Ste hasn't cheated on you technically but you suspect, like a husband turned mad with rabid jealousy, that your beloved's heart has strayed away from you. Even worse, that it was never yours to begin with. That it belonged to another man.

"No." You reply. "No one has done any cheating, Toby."

Toby takes in your downturned expression. He says nothing for some time then,

"Then you shouldn't give up."

You are shocked at his advice.

"Show Ste why you are the right man for him; why he picked you in the first place."

"He picked me because I was there when he needed someone to make him feel safe." You say before thinking. "Or maybe he transferred his feelings for Brendan onto me."

It takes a moment for Toby to recall who Brendan was. "His ex? Is that what this is all about?"

"Doesn't matter." You say and point in the direction of the auditorium. "I think I'm going to get going. Tell someone in there that I had to shoot off, yeah?"

"Marty. People don't ever forget their exes. They are lying if they say they do. How can they? They can only hope to move on from them. Mother always used to tell me that 'the scars on a man, acquired in childhood, are still there but appear smaller'."

"Poetic." You say sarcastically. "The thing is the scars _are_ still there. And every so often something comes along to remind him that they are; whether it is a blood encrusted t-shirt, or fucking Cheryl turning up at his bistro on opening night out of the blue or a trip to Dublin or bumping into his ex at a restaurant in Dublin. The scar is picked and the memories come flooding back and everything that has happened since and the smooth healthy skin that surrounds it are forgotten. They fade away to nothing. I fade to nothing."

You prod Toby's chest with two fingers shaped like a gun emphasising the last four words with four sharp jabs. He looks worriedly at you so you turn on your heal and head for the doors.

"Where are you going?" He calls out in concern.

"Sightseeing." You lie.

"Are you going to be okay? You're coming to the conference dinner tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod as you reach the exit and grip the door handle. "I'll be there."

XOXO

_**Three years ago...**_

You knock on the door and wait, feeling agitated. You look around at the kids milling around as if there are no classes to go to. A few of the younger girls keep staring at you, whispering at each other and giggling coyly.

"Come in." You hear from within and walk into the Head teacher's office of Hollyoaks High.

"Marty, what are you doing here?" Peter says in surprise. He takes in your taut expression. "Is everything okay?"

You close the door and walk up to the desk that divides you.

"Don't kids go to class now-a-days?" You say. "Or am I being old fashioned?"

"It's called a break." He frowns and leans back into his chair. "You seem troubled. Why don't you take a seat?"

"I prefer to stand." You are unsettled and jumpy. "What the fuck happened last night? Why did Brendan's sister show up?"

He holds his hands up apologetically. "Yeah, look mate, I have to take the blame there. I called home a month ago or so to catch up with a friend of mine, Lynsey, who lives in Belfast and I may have let slip that we were about to open up a bistro."

"How did Cheryl find out?"

"We all know each other. Lynsey is her best friend. She must have told her. I'm sorry, Marty. It slipped out. I was excited. How is Ste?"

"He has probably spoken two words since. She fucked up what should have been a great experience for Ste."

"I know."

You begin to pace. "Tell me what you know."

He swallows nervously and begins to shuffle papers in front of him. "I don't underst-"

"Don't insult my intelligence. Yesterday, Brendan's sister was about to say something to Ste but you stopped her."

Pete pushes out a forced laugh.

"Oh that. It's nothing, honestly. It just wasn't something for everyone's ears."

"What was it? Cheryl implied that Ste's anger towards Brendan was misplaced."

He huffs. "Yeah. Look, I don't know how to put this tactfully..."

"Please. Don't spare my feelings if that is what you are worried about." Your hands are in tight painful fists, waiting.

"Okay. But you have to promise not to tell Ste."

"Will my silence hurt him?"

"No. It will protect him."

So you nod.

Pete speaks quietly. "Ste is certain that Brendan left him because he had somehow fallen out of love for him. That's not true. Brendan still loved him. In fact, in his own warped way, Brendan loved him more. The thing is my best friend had a lot of enemies, all of them nipping at his heals wanting to get a bite out of him. When Ste was kidnapped Brendan felt he was to blame. He felt responsible for what happened to Ste. He figured he was better off without him. So he left."

Your mouth feels dry. "Was it his fault Ste got abducted?"

"No!" Peter says quickly and certainly. "No, of course not, but guilt is a bitch."

You wish you had never heard this. You feel complicit somehow now.

"So all this time Ste has been in bits thinking that Brendan stopped caring when actually..."

"Yeah." Pete says. "It's better this way, Martin. Believe me. It is so much better this way."

XOXOXOXO

Fred and Ginger in Top Hat (1935) perfoming 'Cheek to Cheek' on youtube- .com/watch?v=WOYzFKizikU&feature=related.

Old school but you've got to love it! I hope you all had a great Christmas and New Year,

Hugs,

Chips


	20. The Reunion Nicola 4

_**Present Day (Day 4)...**_

You are getting that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you used to get as a child when you had done something wrong and you knew that you were about to get your comeuppance. What you did just a few minutes ago is unforgiveable. It doesn't matter that it was not done maliciously or deliberately. You did it when Cheryl came round to the club, with her youngest son in tow, looking for Brendan...

xo

"_He is at THE ELECTRIC today." _You told her.

She was on edge. _"Really, It's just that I haven't seen him in a while. Then Declan called me this morning and told me he'd had dinner with Ste last night. __You know Ste, right? Deccy said you met him a few days ago." _

You nodded.

_"So you'll also know it's complicated, Nikki."_ Cheryl said. _"Brendan and him."_

"_I kind of guessed._ _You have never talked about him to me before. No one has."_

"_For Brendan's sake. I didn't want to make it harder than it already was. He would never admit it but I reckon he has found it tough moving on."_ She said.

"_All I know is snippets of what happened between them. Little things that I have picked up over the years and what Declan told me a couple of days ago. I know that they had a stormy relationship at least at first. I know that Declan likes him. I know that he was violently kidnapped. I know that Brendan never explained why he and Ste broke up at least not to his sons straight after."_

Chez got visibly upset as you spoke. _"Do you remember that bowling night after you got back from Hollyoaks, must be three years ago now? When Brendan got angry? It was because you went to see Ste, wasn't it? I didn't realise it then. I wondered why he was so worked up."_

She nodded. "_I was fine with him getting angry. But I couldn't have handled him getting upset if he found out that Ste didn't want to know. That he was with someone. It would have killed Brendan."_

You were curious. You wondered whether Bren's ex had been with Martin then. "_What did his boyfriend look like?"_

She looked at you oddly. "_Don't know. A bit like an Aussie surfer. Blond. Tall. Chiselled... Scottish."_

"_His name is Martin."_ You say. _"They are engaged now."_

Cheryl's face dropped. _"Engaged? Are you kidding me?"_

"_But I don't think Ste has completely moved on."_

"_Are you talking about the whole, 'I love you, Brendan' incident?"_ She said.

You nod. Declan told her? That kid had no boundaries, telling his aunt about the sexcapades of his father's ex.

"_And I think Bren still thinks of Ste." _You confessed.

_"What makes you say that?" _

_"I found a well thumbed picture of Ste in his wallet." _

The line seemed to go dead then Cheryl voiced what a she thought was a brilliant idea; to push Ste and Brendan together to _"Talk things through and make their peace"_ because _"Life is too short and you should never go to your grave with regret."_

Had she not realised that her nephew had already tried and failed?

That is when you broke down into tears because any references to life, death, sickness, health or the uncertain future messed with your emotions. She looked at you in shock wondering what had gotten into you. That was when you blurted out the truth.

"_He is really sick, Chez. I'm so sorry but your brother has cancer."_

It was out before you had a chance to think. It was bad enough that you told Cheryl against Brandan's wishes. Unfortunately, at that moment Declan wandered into the office.

His face was stunned, devastated. He looked incredulously at you and his aunt. Without a word, he turned on his heal and ran out of the club despite your calls for him to come back.

Cheryl went after him.

xo

That all happened at lunchtime.

You call Brendan soon after to pre-empt what is to come; his justified fury. He doesn't answer so you leave a message asking him call you back as soon as possible. Your attention is torn between Brady drama and preparations for the night _VIBE_ is hosting later.

By two-thirty pm, Chez calls you. She assures you that Deccy is okay but not fit to continue his shift at the club. You figured you weren't going to see him for the rest of the day. He needed some time to take in the news he has just received.

Your heart sinks when she also tells you that she has been to see her brother at _THE ELECTRIC_.

"What did he say?" You ask anxiously.

"He is a little pissed off, I can't lie, but he'll get over it, Niks." She replies.

"Where is he now?"

"_THE ELECTRIC_ as far as I know. Why?"

"He didn't answer my call."

The line goes silent for a few moments then she says. "Actually there is a chance he'll come over to _VIBE_ later."

"Why?"

"Oh, you know..."

You do know and you don't like it. "Please tell me you didn't encourage him to come to talk to Ste."

"I may have done."

"Chez, that's not a smart move. Ste's fiancé is going to be there. It could turn ugly. We shouldn't be meddling."

"Ste's is leaving tomorrow and you know Bren would never go for the grand romantic gesture and chase him over the Irish sea. It is not his style. So this is his only chance."

"It'll be handbags at dawn." You warn her, partly concerned about your friend and partly worried about how it might ruin a night that you have worked really hard towards.

"Sometimes blood has to be spilt in the name of love."

You shudder at the tone of her voice. Cheryl is ruthless when it comes to caring for her loved ones.

Must be a Brady trait.

XOXO

_**Three years ago...**_

It has been raining non-stop for five days in Dublin so Saturday afternoon is spent in a warm indoor local bowling alley. Not exactly your idea of a well spent weekend but Declan and Paraic are staying with Bren as they do every weekend so the activity is kid friendly. Cheryl and Paddy complete the group of six. You haven't seen Paddy for a while and Cheryl has just got back from a trip out of town so this has doubled as an opportunity to catch up.

You stand in two groups of three staring menacingly at each other in front of a bowling lane. Chez, Paddy and Declan are on one team. Brendan, Paraic and you are on the other. It's a good job Paddy's girlfriend couldn't make it. She would have made the numbers uneven.

"Who decided that bowling was a good idea?" You ask as you look down at the unflattering footwear covering your feet.

"Just because you can't aim for shit doesn't mean you should hate on the game, Niks!" Adult Paddy looks at you with a cheeky grin.

"Hey! None of that language in front of the boys." Brendan says.

"Sorry, mate." Paddy grins at him. "But we all know Nikki is a liability with a bowling ball in her hand. Remember the time she tossed it and it went backwards and nearly hit that kid!"

Everyone laughs at you except Cheryl.

"Ey, look you. The kid wasn't hurt and she has gotten better since then." She says.

"Yeah." You say.

"But thank goodness you aren't on my team, love. I want to win!" She adds.

And they all peel with laughter again. Why does this feel like have-a-go-at-Nikki day suddenly?

"Thanks for your support, guys." You mumble while Brendan pulls you into a one armed hug and gives you a squeeze.

"Don't worry, Niks. You've got us on your team and we are going to crush them." He says with a small lopsided smile. "Ain't we, little man?" He nudges his eight year old son.

"Yeah!" Paraic squeals gleefully. "Be prepared to be annihilated!"

"Do you even know what annihilate means?" His sixteen year old brother says patronisingly.

"Yeah. To completely destroy. To reduce to nonexistence." Paraic looks smug as he pretends to pulverise something in his fist and sprinkle its remnants on the floor.

"Boys." Their father says, grinning at the banter. "Let's settle this with a game, yeah?"

"I'll go first." Paraic says confidently and steps up to the end of your lane. He confidently hits seven out of ten pins and celebrates like a footballer scoring a hat trick by running around giving strangers high-fives.

Declan is up next and hits a strike. There are cheers all round.

The boys huddle around their father who imparts his knowledge on how to swing a ball before his turn so you take the opportunity to catch up with Paddy and Cheryl.

"So how was your trip, Chez?"

She looks at you briefly then at Brendan before whispering. "Yeah good."

"Must have been nice to catch up with old friends." Paddy, your friend, says.

"Um hum." She nods. She looks at her brother again. He is lined up and preparing for his throw. "Look can we talk about it later?" She asks quietly.

"Yeah sure. Did you have a bust up with someone when you were out there or something?" You ask, sensing her upset.

Her grin looks forced and plastered on. "No. Nothing like that."

"So who did you catch up with?" Paddy asks. "Mitzeee, Pete?"

Cheryl hushes you then sinks her head into her hands as Brendan struts up to the three of you.

"You were in Hollyoaks?" He asks Chez. "Thought you said it was Belfast to see Lynsey."

"Yeah well. No it was Hollyoaks and Chester." She goes red. "Just for three days." She keeps her eyes down. "I didn't think you'd be interested."

He cocks his head to one side. Anger. That is what it is. But it is repressed. All under the surface. Tension builds up out of nowhere between brother and sister. For some reason Brendan isn't happy about his sister's holiday destination. You see a tick set off in his cheek.

Hollyoaks is where both of them lived for a period of time. Not that you know much more than that since they both avoid talking about it.

"Have you been back since you left, Bren?" You ask. "There must be some friends you left behind."

"No I haven't." He says. The words are heavily weighted as he fixes his sister with an unwavering gaze.

Paddy has gone uncharacteristically quiet.

"So was there a special reason for going to Hollyoaks, Chez?" You probed, picking up on the general unease.

"Hollyoaks?" Declan interjects excitedly as he butts into 'adult' conversation with his little brother by his side. "You went back, Auntie? Did you see Ste?"

His father becomes red with anger; that vein in his forehead, that acts as a warning for an explosive reaction, is standing out prominently. Shit. Brendan is one angry man right now.

"Yeah." Cheryl mumbles. "Yeah. I did."

"Is he okay now?" Declan seems concerned. Who is this Ste guy? You have never heard his name mentioned before and yet the mere mention of his name creates a ripple of emotion among your five bowling companions including little Paraic.

Brendan has the most feral reaction, though. His cheek is ticking like there is no tomorrow.

"He's fine, love." Chez says quietly to her nephew.

"Good." Declan grins.

"It would be great to see him again. Wouldn't it?" Paraic says. "He was a laugh."

Brendan suddenly stands up and grips his sister's arm brusquely. "Chez, give me hand getting some drinks for everyone, will ye?"

"Um. Uh. Yeah." She mutters nervously.

He drags her to the refreshment stand and you, Declan and Paddy witness a heated exchange of words between the siblings although you cannot make out the content.

Declan looks disturbed. "He never fucking allows us to talk about it. It is so frustrating."

"Declan swore." Paraic says disapprovingly.

"You know what your dad thinks about you swearing." You say to Deccy in a firm tone.

"Sorry, but it's not fair!" Dec says, all teenage tantrum. "He always gets it his way!"

"What happened? Why is he so angry?" You dare to ask.

Paraic shrugs. "Dunno. He doesn't speak to Ste anymore, though. That sucks."

When you try to ask Brendan upon his return from the refreshment stand, he expertly steers the topic of conversation away from the subject of interest. It has the effect on making everyone else feel gagged. Even you sense that it is not wise to push for more information in the name of curiosity.

Paddy whispers to you later in the game. "I don't know the all details myself, Nikki. I don't know if anyone does except Bren. And maybe that is the way it should be. We all have secrets."

xo

After the weekend, you catch up with Brendan at a building that is the location for your next joint venture, a club that you plan to call _THE ELECTRIC_.

Your father found the place and bought it for you. Some people get vouchers for their birthday, you get prime real estate. Of course you were eternally grateful and decided to use it to expand on the success you and Brendan had shared with _VIBE_.

This former brewery has plenty of natural character and quirks that are sure to become a talking point amongst clubbers but there is a lot of work to be done. Most of the ground work has been done. Insulation. Plumbing. Electrics. Water proofing. Most of the remaining work is cosmetic now and you and Bren have a very unique look in mind.

You project to have the venue up and running within two months.

You have breakfast in hand; croissants and coffee.

"Morning, daddy bear." You say as you walk into the makeshift office.

"Hi." He says without looking up from his paperwork. "Why are we doing this again, Niks? Why?"

"Because we love the challenge." You take a seat. "I have breakfast."

"Nicola Manzoni, saving lives every day." He says accepting a mug of steaming coffee. He doesn't stop scribbling furiously with his left hand, though. "I think we will be slightly over budget but it'll be worth it for the finish."

"What? No small talk?" You ask. "Straight to business?"

You want to explore _Bowling-gate_. You wrack your brain for the name of the guy who got Brendan so worked up but it escapes you. Damn.

He leans back and sticks his pen into his mouth and sucks on it. He is very orally fixated is Bren. Always with something in his mouth; food, pens, lolly pops, gum...etc.

"Go on then." He says. "Hit me."

"What?"

"You are about to bore me to tears with the date you had last night Am I wrong?"

It's funny, your date nearly slipped your mind. Nearly. So is he that keen to avoid the subject of the mysterious man from his past that he is willing to listen to your single and dating story update.

"No you aren't. It was great, Bren." You gush. "This was date number three with Tim!"

"Well hello, missy!" He pretends to be excited.

"We had a nice dinner then we went to a comedy club and the night ended at mine."

Brendan grin becomes even broader. "And where did the Timothy touch you, Nicola? Point on the doll."

"He didn't get inappropriate if that's what you are getting at." You say with a grin. "Just a little kiss and a cuddle."

"Where's the fun in that?"

You shrug. "We had plenty of fun but I like to know that I have a connection with someone before I show him my pale bits."

Quickies and one night stands are not your thing. Brendan on the other hand thinks little of picking someone up for a purely physical roll in the hay. He doesn't bed hop like some male slag. It is more like an indulgence that he affords himself once in a while, like going to a posh restaurant on pay day.

He takes a sip of his coffee. "You don't need an emotional connection to enjoy sex with someone, Nicola. All one needs is a warm, compliant body, protection, stamina and no inhibitions. With that recipe the pleasure takes care of itself. Pure, simple and satisfying. Then it's thank you, get dressed and fuck off."

"How romantic."

"Just telling it like it is. Right now Timothy is probably thinking 'when am I going to get my leg over?'. Men are animals, Nikki. We think with our dicks. The poor man is doing all this dating like a mug just so he can get into your pants. The difference between you and thousands of other girls is that you have standards. You don't spread your legs for dinner at _Pizza Express_, a bottle of cheap _Lambrini_ or a cheesy chat up line. You are a challenge to him but believe me, once he has cracked you he will treat you like every other insecure girl that he could have bedded by simply giving them a little attention and a smile."

You can't believe how insensitive he is being. Is that what he really thinks about sex, love and romance?

"You don't honestly believe that, do you? Don't you think people out there want to find a deeper connection with someone else and that maybe sex can be used as part of an expression of love? Because I do."

He rolls his eyes at your sentimentality then picks up a croissant. He takes a big bite out of it.

"Nope." He says through a full mouth.

"Then you'll never experience true love, Brendan. You have completely closed yourself off to that possibility."

He swallows and narrows his eyes at you.

"_True_ love." He says the words slowly.

"Yeah."

He puts his pastry down, stands up and walks round to you. It's always a little scary when he does that. He approaches as he has no intention to stop, with dark intent radiating through his eyes.

"You think I don't know what love means?"

"No." You stand up defiantly opposite him.

He stares you down.

"People talk about love like they know what they are talking about but they don't know what it really means. They talk about it like it is an item in a clearance sale. Mass produced, cheap, clichéd tat that can be binned if it doesn't fit. In one minute, out the next. That 'love' has everything to do with ego and wanting what you think everyone else has. It is selfish. All me, me, me. What can _I_ get out of this love? Kids, money, attention, status and social standing, a cure for loneliness, a trophy wife, a knight in shining armour, sex on tap, a fucking sunset ending? People don't understand _true_ love, Nicola, because it is the opposite of romantic. It is not glamorous. It is an instinct. It is selfless and all consuming. It exists even when it is not reciprocated. It is not just there when things are hunky dory. It is there when times get tough. It is there every fucking second of every day. In exercising patience. In remembering the detail. Every last inch of skin. Every inflection of a dirty laugh. Every tick, quirk or mannerism. It is about you and him."

He touches your heart, grazing over your left breast, and you shudder lightly before he moves it to touch his own. His blue eyes bore into yours and you get sucked in. You are close. Toe to toe.

"The two of you. And it feels like possession but it isn't. You want to build a fortress around it because it feels fragile but it isn't. It trumps every other emotion. Because it is there even when the person you love isn't, Niks. And it leads you to do anything for him. _Anything_." He taps over his heart again. "For life."

Wow. You lean in towards Bren instinctively. Thank goodness he steps away and sits back in his seat before your stupid body makes you kiss him. You would have looked like a right mug. It's that magnetism of his.

Is Brendan referring to anyone in particular? His words sound so personal, as if woven from his own experience. His crystal blue eyes tell all. You are in no doubt that he has been in love before, his version of love; this 'all consuming love'. But there is a sadness there that makes you think it may have ended badly, afterall, whoever it is isn't in the picture anymore. Not unless Brendan has managed to keep him hidden from you.

Your brain makes a tenuous connection to the mystery man from Hollyoaks.

"Sounds like you know what you are talking about." You say feebly as you take your seat again.

He grunts. "This is my advice to you for what it's worth. If you like this Tim bloke, ask him out for a fourth date. Sleep with him. Don't sleep with him. Do what you think feels right."

"I will."

And somehow the subject of Hollyoaks and the mysterious man that may have stolen your friend's heart is never brought up. And with time it gets paler and paler a memory until it is lost to hazy insignificance.

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 4)... **_

It is nearly seven thirty pm and virtually all the guests are here and seated, ready for their first course.

Aoife, Declan's girlfriend, is holding the guest list at the top of the stairs that open up to the dining area. She is standing in for her boyfriend.

She gives a couple of late arriving guests a courteous smile as they reach her, dressed in evening or cocktail dresses, dinner jackets or tuxedos.

"Good evening. Welcome to _VIBE. _May I take your names and I'll help show you to your table."

You frown. Martin and Ste haven't arrived yet. You have been looking out for them. And Brendan. You pace nervously. A part of you hopes none of them turn up.

You walk up to Aoife once she has attended to her guests.

"Hi." You say. "Have you spoken to Declan?"

"Yes." She says. "He is round at his aunt's. He is still trying to absorb the whole cancer thing, you know."

You nod. "Has he spoken to Brendan yet?"

"I don't think so. Cheryl suggested that maybe everyone needs to sleep on it. The whole family is getting together tomorrow to talk about it properly."

"That's a good idea. Tell him that I'm sorry, yeah."

"Yeah, sure." She refers to her clipboard. "By the way, four people still aren't here. Tobias Fredricks. Manpreet Khan. Martin McCallister plus one."

You nod. "That's not bad going. We have to start serving soon. They'll join in if they come."

Aoife emits a strangled excited squeal. Her eyes widen and she breaks into a huge grin. "Oh. My. God!" She mutters under her breath.

"What?" You turn to the stairs to see Martin walking up dressed up to the nines in a simple but very effective tuxedo with an equally handsome man in a suit by his side. He is shorter, maybe your height, 5'9", with dark Mediterranean looks. Damn. You swallow a glob of drool when you look back at Martin. You can see why Ste has been with the guy for as long as he has. There is nothing to say no to in that slab of man.

And you see why Aoife is acting like a groupie. She leans into you and whispers, "This is the craziest coincidence but the tall guy is someone Dec and I met at the _Foggy Dew_ a few days ago. He is going out with a guy who used to go out with Mr. Brady!"

You haven't got any time to respond to her breathless excitement. Martin and his companion reach the top of the stairs. He smiles at you in recognition.

"Martin!" Aoife says animatedly. "Fancy seeing you here!"

Hair flick.

Batting eyelashes.

Red cheeks.

The girl is not too subtle. She may as well stick her breasts in his face, bless her, but then he is the kind of guy that makes fools of out of women without trying to.

He is trying to place her. "Hello." He says vaguely.

She says, "Remember. The _Foggy Dew_. My mate Freddie had a gig there." She giggles and you give her a stern look so she stops.

"Oh yes." He says looking suitably uncomfortable. "I was pretty wasted that night. Not my finest hour."

He turns to you and gives you an easy grin. "We must stop meeting like this."

You smile back. "I know."

"You know each other?" His companion and Aoife say simultaneously.

Martin nods. "Nicole..." He says without hesitation. He has a wry smile on his face, "... has been stalking me. This is our third random meeting and I suspect she is going to tell me this is the other club she owns other than _THE ELECTRIC_."

He keeps his smile fixed but you know he cannot be all too happy knowing that Brendan also co-owns it, something Paddy mentioned when you last saw him.

You nod and say. "Guilty."

"Toby is a friend and colleague of mine from Chester." He says introducing the man by his side. You look at the hand he is pointing with.

News flash. He isn't wearing his engagement ring he was so keen to point out to you at _THE ELECTRIC_.

"A pleasure." The man says extending his hand. You shake it. Firm grip. Posh voice. Easy on the eye. There is too much pretty for your eyes to cope with. Suddenly you reassess the relationship between these two men.

"Is Ste not coming?" You ask, trying to keep your tone light and inconsequential.

Toby speaks for Martin when the taller man fails to answer, frozen into silence. "I am sure he will. He is... running late."

"I see." But you don't. You sense major drama. "In which case you had better take you to your seats. Dinner is about to be served. Have a lovely evening."

Aoife leads the way.

You silently watch them as they go. Their manner. They are very familiar with each other, Martin and Toby. Interesting. You are not sure you'd be okay with your fiance replacing you with another man as your plus one. YOu wonder what this is all about and then you say a prayer like the good Catholic girl you were raised to be.

_Please, God, please let this night be smooth sailing._

xo

You can't help looking over at Martin and Toby every so often. They engage in conversation with others at their table but you notice that every so often the Scotsman glances towards the staircase expectantly. He is hoping Ste will show up.

The poor man is waiting for the man he loves. His companion, Toby, may as well be chopped liver for all the attention he is getting. You sense his dejection and you realise that this may be a love square not triangle.

He is still absent when the guests are half way through their main course. You assume at the point that he isn't coming. Clearly, the Glaswegian thinks the same because he starts drinking. Heavily.

By the time the cutlery and crockery for the main meal are being cleared away it is halfway through the night. Dessert is about to be served but you have noticed the Martin has consummed so much alcohol that you are surprised he isn't in a pile on the floor. His genes and his size must be acting in his favour. But the signs of inebriation are there. He is being far more sociable and louder than he was at the beginning of the night. In fact, he is millimetre away from distracting and boisterous. And he is being a little too tactile with his friend. He is making some of their company, Toby included, uncomfortable.

Toby lays a calming hand on Martin when his laugh gets a little too loudly and says, "Keep your voice down, Marty."

Martin shakes him off,

"I thought we were all here to have fun after three days of stuffy lectures?"

The uneasiness of the guests spreads to adjacent tables.

"Maybe we should go get some air." Toby suggests gently.

Martin looks at him with glazed, heavy lidded eyes and whispers loudly, "Why Mr. Fredricks, are you trying to get me alone?"

Toby looks embarrassed and apologetically looks at the people at their table before saying, "I am not sure your Stephen would approve of that, do you?"

His laugh is nervous.

"What my fiancé, Stephen?" Martin says drunkenly as he stands up unsteadily. He points at the empty seat by his side. "I don't see him here, do you?"

He glances at the guests around the table. "Do you?"

They all agree politely that, indeed, there is no one in the seat next to him.

"And do you know why that is?" He asks them.

Shit.

Drama alert.

You approach the table quickly.

"Mate, let's go out. Seriously." Toby says firmly. "You are making a show of yourself."

Martin has enough insight not to argue. He apologises with the profuse sincerity that comes with excessive alcohol consumption and gets led out of the club by his friend.

You tell Toby to call you if he needs anything as he supports Martin while they make their way down the stairs. He nods in appreciation.

Your phone goes off at that moment. You hope it is Brendan so you can apologise to him but it is your father.

"Hey, dad."

"Hi, Nicoletta. I wanted to drop you a quick line to see how the night was going."

"Ask me in two hours." You say. "It looked like some drama was going to kick off but the crisis has been averted at least for now."

"Do you want me to get someone down there?" He says seriously. "Is someone causing trouble?"

Like a bullbog. Ready for action. Maybe a little too ready ut then you are daddy's little girl.

"No, _scherzi_?" Are you kidding? "_E tutto 'sotto controllo, papa._" It is all under control.

"If you say so." He says. "You know I am so proud of you."

"I know you are. Look I've got to go but I'll give you a call tomorrow, yeah? Un bacio." _Kiss._

A few minutes later you walk back out of the club with a large glass of water to see how Martin is holding up. You suspect that he will need to go home to sleep off the alcohol but there is a remote chance he will have sobered up enough to see the evening through.

Curiously he and Toby aren't immediately outside the club and for a second you wonder whether they headed off. The fact that they left their coats in the club goes against that theory so you round the corner to a small alleyway that punters use for a smoke.

What you see shocks you into dropping the glass of water onto the ground so that it shatters into a million pieces.

Martin and Toby spring apart at the sound but they are too late. You have caught them in the act. Imprinted in your mind is the image of a passionate kiss with Toby trapped against the cool brick of the club's wall, his hands entangled in the taller man's hair and his buttocks cupped in Martin's grasp.

Martin looks at Toby in surprise as if he doesn't know how he got where he is. He wipes his mouth as he turns to you and then holds his forehead, trying to clear his foggy brain.

You stammer in astonishment.

"I-I-I think you should get to y-y-your hotel. You can wait for Ste there. I'll get you a taxi."

"Wait, Nicole!" He slurs. "No. That was..." He points at Toby vaguely. "Shit!" He shouts in frustration.

"Marty?"

The three of you hear the familiar voice round the corner.

"Ste?" Marty says as he stumbles out of the alleyway towards the front of the club, followed by you and Toby.

Ste is standing there dressed in a suit that shows him off to his best advantage. He looks coyly at Martin and holds a small bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Fucking hell. Why to go on the timing, Stephen.

"I know it is totally lame but I didn't know what else to get ya." He says wafting the flowers around.

"You came." Martin's voice breaks.

"Yeah." Ste looks at him. " 'Course I did. I had to, didn't I?"

"I thought..." Marty's shoulders slump. "I was sure you had chosen him."

Ste walks up to him and lays a hand on his chest. Toby physically bristles when he sees the contact and Martin's reaction to it.

"I'll see you inside." He says but he gets no reply from either man so he walks off quietly.

Another broken heart.

You should probably go too but you are welded to the spot and to be honest you aren't sure Ste and Martin would notice if an explosion took place right next to them.

You notice that Ste's eyes are blood shot, like he has been crying but he isn't crying now. Where has he been anyway? Why is he so late? And why is he so strangely unruffled, in an 'eye of the storm sort of way' in contrast to the emotional mess that Martin is.

If you knew about Ste's PTSD and his tendency to be the more emotionally volatile of the two you would have appreciated the irony in their present behaviour.

"Remember what I told you." Ste says calmly. "It is just you and me. Always. Where would I be without you, Marty? You are the one that saved me."

Marty crumbles into tears. "I'm sorry." He whispers and pulls Ste into a crushing embrace that almost completely engulfs the slighter man. You know that he is apologising for the kiss that Ste just missed. You notice how Ste allows himself to be hugged but makes no effort to return the embrace. His arms hang limply by him side and his fingers release the flowers he was holding so that they drop to the ground, forgotten.

"It's me who should say sorry. I was living in the past and I dragged you there with me. I should have known that what I needed was right here all along." When Martin releases him, the younger man reaches into his pocket and extracts a gold band. "So this time, I'll do the proposing. Martin McCallister. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

You turn your head away, partly because you feel like a traitor being witness to your best friend's ex-lover proposing to another man but mainly because this feels so wrong. You have never been a champion of Ste getting back with Brendan but there is something about his partnership with Martin that just isn't right. They have unresolved issues and as far as you know they haven't discussed them at all.

This is papering over cracks.

This is bullshit.

This not _true love. _Not the true love Brendan told you about.

This is love with an agenda. The kind of love that doesn't last because it comes with ifs, ands or buts.

You suddenly wish Brendan had taken his sister's advice and showed up. Maybe he would have broken up this farce. Where is he anyway? If he really loves this boy-man then why isn't he fighting for Stephen instead of giving Martin a win by default.

You want to intervene but these are the lives and decisions of strangers. You have no right.

Martin doesn't respond so Ste leans in and lightly rests his hands on Martin's hips. He pulls the taller man into a kiss. It is sweet. It is familiar. It is tender. And it is probably comfortable. But it lacks _fire _in your opinion.

You hear the Glaswegian whisper, "You know I love you." just before you make your way into the club and up its stairs. Back to _your_ reality. Maybe, with time, the events of the last four days will melt away.

Aoife strolls up to you as you get back to the bustling dinner service. Funny how it is businedd as usual while big life changing actions are taking place just metres away.

"What happened?" She asks. "Martin looked pretty drunk... again."

Numbly you say, "He will not be coming back and neither is his plus one so you can tell the kitchen that there are two places at table eight that do not need dessert and coffee."

You look around for Toby. You can't see him anywhere. "Make that three."


	21. The Reunion Stephen 5

**_Six years ago..._**

The first thing you are aware of is that you are lying flat on your back on a mattress that has conformed itself to your body. The second is the discordant beeping sounds of machinery, monotonous and never ending. The third is voices. All around you. Above you. Disrupting your thoughts.

But the pain overrides everything else you are experiencing. It is all over. Unrelenting. Merciless. Agonising.

You need pain relief.

_Please give me some._

"Stephen?"

_Yeah. What?_

"Stephen."

_What?_

"You are right. He is waking up."

Someone is prodding you, pulling up your eyelids. A light shines into your eyes. First one then the other. It's blinding. Your hand held. Why?

"His tone is still poor."

Your knees are knocked with something hard and your lower limbs jerk in reaction.

"... But patellar reflexes are normal. How have his observations been?"

_What's happening?_

"Fine. His pulse is a little up now which is understandable but other than that..."

"Has he had some analgesia?"

"Yep. Ten of morphine about half an hour ago. He seems comfortable."

_No. I'm not. I'm aching all over. Sharp stabs in my legs. A dull pressure in my chest. A thumping burn at the back of my head. My wrist. Fuck. Pounding._

"He won't be comfortable now he is regaining consciousness. We may need to up the frequency and dose of his opiates. Let's play it by ear."

_My arse. It feels sore. Why can't I move? Why can't I speak?_

"Dr Qwame, the orthopaedic surgeons have already been on their ward round. They are happy with the alignment of his fractures. They wanted us to start him on anticoagulation to reduce the risk of deep vein clots in his legs if we were happy that he wasn't at a major risk of a rebleed into his brain. I didn't know what you thought about it."

"Risk of fatal blood clot in his lungs versus risk of fatal bleed into his brain. It's a toughie. But we are a week out of that subdural. He would be very unlucky to bleed on a prophylactic dose of heparin. I'll have a word with the neurosurgeons but I suspect the balance of risk is in favour of treating him and monitoring him closely. We would need to up the frequency of his neuro obs. And we should let his next of kin know that he is coming round."

"I don't think he has any close family. He lived alone before this all happened. The mother of his kids comes to visit him every day though and stays with him for a couple of hours and she has brought along a guy in a wheelchair and an Irish girl with her a couple of times."

"What about his brother?"

"Who?"

"The silent, brooding type that comes to visit every single night in the dead of the night. You know, the guy that hovers outside. Says he is needle-phobic so can't step onto the ward."

"Oh yeah. The nurses refer to him as tache-man. Irish guy. He has made night shifts popular! But he is a little shifty. Apparently he can't make visiting hours because of his job. He hangs around outside all night pacing and asking for updates on Stephen's progress. I have seen him with the Irish woman. She has confirmed that he is family. I think he saw Stephen as he was when he first came, the poor bloke. That would scar me for life."

_Brendan. _You try to open your eyes but your eyelids feel impossibly heavy. So you try to speak. _That's Brendan you are talking about. _

But your effort is futile. It comes out as a groan.

"There you go, Stephen. It's alright. You are just waking up. Take it easy. Everything is fine. Let's get some oxygen on you. There. This guy is a fighter. Right. Greg, will you call his girlfriend or brother or whoever a.s.a.p.? It would be good if he saw someone he recognises when he fully comes round. And let me know when they arrive. I need to talk to them. They need to have realistic expectations of what Stephen might be like after the head injury. I'm not sure they fully appreciate the worst case 'full-time care' scenario, if you know what I mean. At the very least I am expecting some amnesia."

"That might be a blessing don't you think, Dr Qwame. Not remembering everything he has been through."

_Been through? What are you talking about? What have I been through?_

"Retrograde amnesia is the best case scenario. We'll need to get the neurologists to check for evidence of permanent brain damage."

_Is something wrong with me?_ You try to move but it is as if your brain can't engage your body to act.

"No problem, boss. I'll liaise with them."

"Good. Let's hope we have some good news to tell the family. Who's next?"

XOXO

Someone is crushing themselves to you. Wrapping their arms around you. It fucking hurts. You hear a sniffle and feel warm wetness against you cheek.

She pulls away and stares at you.

Where has she come from? You look around you. Hospital bed. Plastic tubes attached to you at one end and bags hanging from drip stands at the other. Beeping machines all around you. Your cock hurts. You reach down. There is a tube coming out of it. A catheter. There is something in the hand that discovered the catheter. Your right hand. A device with a button. You remember a black man in a suit saying, in a kind gentle voice,

'Just press it whenever you need to. It deploys a predetermined dose of morphine to help with pain. Don't worry about pressing it too many times. You won't overdose. It has an inbuilt lockout system.'

So you press it now.

Amy. That is her name. The girl who was crushing you just a moment ago. You know her. She can be bossy with you. You lived with her. But not now. She is your best friend. Your confidant. You picture a little boy and a girl. Yes. You have children together.

_Silly me. How could I forget?_

"Ste are you okay?" She says.

You smile. Slightly.

"Yeah, Amy." You say her name to confirm what you know. "I think so. How long have you been there?"

She laughs as if you have said a joke but you are serious. She looks crestfallen when she says. "Don't you remember? About ten minutes. We were talking just now and then you started crying, all of a sudden so I gave you a hug."

"Really?" But actually, now that she mentions it you vaguely remember that. "Sorry."

A nurse in uniform who comes up to you then. "Nothing to feel sorry about, Ste. You are doing brilliantly. You only came round a few hours ago. You have got to give yourself a chance. This vagueness may just be the effect of the pain relief we are giving you so that you stay comfortable."

"Dr Qwame said something about amnesia? Ste doesn't have that, does he?" Amy says. Her voice is all wobbly so you look at her. It is as if she is about to cry.

"Ste, do you remember what Amy did when she came into the ward a few minutes ago?"

You stare blankly at her. You wrack your memory but it feels like the harder you try to remember the more inaccessible the memory is. Then suddenly it bursts forward in your mind and you laugh. The release of mirth is painful on your body but it feels good to your soul.

Amy looks stunned by your reaction.

"She tripped and fell." You say.

Her lips are all wobbly_. Just like our Leah when she falls over and hurts herself and has a boo-boo. _"It's not funny."

The nurse grins. "Ste thinks it is. And I would say that answers your question about amnesia. But there are two main kinds of amnesia, retrograde and anterograde. At some point over the next few days the doctors will be testing your recollection of the past and the present. It is not unusual, after serious head injuries to lose memories of events either side of and including the event that caused the injury."

You nod initially but then you realise something.

"What event?" You ask.

Amy and the nurse look at you incredulously. Your friend lightly grips your hand in hers and you see tears fall from her red tired eyes.

"The event that got you into hospital, Ste. Into intensive care."

"Oh. I see." You say. But you don't and a part of you, your subconscious, tells you not to enquire further right now. Like an inbuilt protective gauge it tells you that you don't need to know. So you concentrate on what you do know.

"I remember Amy." You say to her and smile. She tries to smile back but sniffs back a fresh wave of tears instead. Why is she so bloody sad?

"And I remember Lucas and Leah. They are my kids."

Amy smiles at you then.

"I live in Hollyoaks and I am a barman. I work at a club there. It is called _Chez Chez_." Using your brain feels like exercising a muscle. It is bloody sore but the more you do the more you remember. "Chez is the name of my friend and she also has shares in the club. And her brother..."

You feel Amy visibly bristle by your side as if she doesn't like the fact that you have brought him up but you automatically feel elated just thinking about him, like you could burst out of your skin. You are grinning from ear to ear. You are sure of it.

"His name is Brendan."

_He is well hot._

"We work together."

You get a flash of an image that makes you blush; you straddling him, both of you sweaty and naked in a bed in a room that is familiar to you. His room at his place. His cock up your ass while you ride him, grinding down on him slowly. It's erotic but more than that it feels precious. Intimate. Incredible.

"Um. Brendan and me... we..."

_We are going out. He is my boyfriend._

"It's okay, Ste. You don't need to think on it now." Amy says to you in a stilted tone. "Plenty of time for memories."

You look at her suddenly anxious to see him. "Where is he?"

She looks everywhere but at you. "I-. I haven't spoken to him in a while Ste. I'm not sure."

Oh. Okay. You remember that at one time they didn't see eye to eye, Amy and Brendan, but hadn't things been better recently between them? It is all so vague.

"Has someone told him where I am?"

He would be well annoyed if no one told him. You know.

"Yes, we have." She glances away. "I'm sure he'll come when he is ready."

Good. He'll probably come to see you later. If not you'll ask someone if you can call him.

A black man in a suit walks up to you. He has an easy manner and a kind face. You saw him earlier, you think.

"Dr Qwame. Hi." Amy says.

"How's our champion doing?" He smiles at you. "Have you been using the PCAS the way I told you earlier?"

He points at your hand that is still wrapped around the pain dispensing button.

You nod slowly, hyperaware of every single movement of his. You are on guard.

"Good. I came to answer any questions you might have at the moment. Do you remember what I told you earlier? I am your intensive care consultant. You have been under my care since you came in a week ago. You may have lots of questions or none at all. It doesn't matter. You will have a chance to ask whatever you want whenever you want and we will try to answer to the best of our abilities."

You feel uneasy around him for some reason even though there is nothing particularly threatening about him. But your assessment has concluded that you have cause to be cautious.

He is a man. A stranger. Tall and on the heavier side. You scan down his shirt to his waist. He is wearing a belt.

You feel your breathing speed up and a sweat break out. Your heart is racing. You press on the button to see if that will help.

Dr Qwame suddenly tucks his thumbs into the belt loops of his trousers.

Something in his action reminds of you of another action. A belt unbuckling. A zip being opened. A man. Big. Burly. Oppressive. Kneeling over you.

_No. Please, no._

You are naked. He isn't. Or he is? Is it Dr Qwame? No it isn't. It is someone else. White. Not black. Bearded with a wedding band. Married. Of course.

You are trapped. Lying on your back. Pinned down. You feel powerless, in a weakened state. This is not a fair fight. Your legs are parted violently. The stench of his BO fills your nostrils. And he pushes into your unprepared arse. The stretch is burning, searing. The rough surface of the ground grazes against your back, buttocks and tender head as you are pummelled. You attempt to push him off you. You endeavour to scream but you can't.

"Ste?"

You are making a strange strangled sound, trying to fill your lungs so you can scream.

"What is happening to him?" You are vaguely aware of Amy crying by your side.

And out it comes. A blood-curdling scream designed to make it all stop. Your body is tense making the total body pain a thousand times worse but you can't stop yourself.

"Amy I think you should go. I think he may be having an anxiety induced panic attack. We are going to need to sedate him now. Could someone please get me some lorazepam?"

"Yes, doctor."

Soon you feel an injection in your buttock and warmth that spreads through your body and then all is calm, quiet and dark once again.

XOXO

**_Present Day (Day 4)..._**

You wake up when your phone beeps. It's a message.

_10.17 am. From Declan Brady_:

_Great to see you yesterday. Lasagne was killer. Sorry I didn't give you that lift back to the hotel but had to leave while you were sleeping. I'm sure dad sorted you out. Hope to catch up with you soon. Don't be a stranger, stranger. _

_Dec._

_'I'm sure dad sorted you out'_... Cheeky fucking teenager! He left you alone with his father deliberately.

Eventually you reply.

_10.35 am. To Declan Brady:_

_I got a taxi back to the hotel in the end. It was good to catch up with you and Paraic. I can't believe how grown up you are (and you've ditched the Bieber haircut!) Good luck with the rest of your vet course and all the best in the future,_

_Ste._

No mention of Brendan. How can it be any other way? Yesterday proved that you can't ever run the risk of facing Brendan again because you put yourself into a vulnerable position. He wronged you and yet you let him kiss you again in a pattern that was a signature of your early relationship.

You can't repeat that self-destructive cycle. So you throw your phone over to Martin's side of the bed, which is empty and unused, and curl up away from it in the vast king-size bed in frustration.

You stare blankly at the cream walls, angry at yourself. You should have never come to Ireland. Amy and Martin had warned you against it. They knew you wouldn't cope. You should have listened. And why did you put yourself in a situation where you were close to Brendan when you could have turned around and walked away? Why were you so easy last night? Why did you kiss him back?

Such a pointless thing to do because Brendan made it perfectly clear six years ago that he didn't value you anywhere near as much as you valued him. So why are you torturing yourself all over again now?

It doesn't matter that you still harbour strong feelings for him after all these years.

_He doesn't feel them for you. Get that through your thick skull. Yesterday was nothing more than a trip down memory lane for him. The two years you shared weren't the happiest period of his life even if they were yours._

The problem is that you never figured out a way to deal with the fact that Brendan left you. You did exactly what Alfie, your psychotherapist, said you shouldn't do when confronting your PTSD; you avoided the issue. You hardly talked about _him_ during therapy and you avoided anything that reminded you of him; steering clear of Hollyoaks, poisoning your good memories of him with the early bad ones and his departure. You walked away from any reference to him. You got so good at blocking him from your thoughts that you thought you were cured.

That he couldn't affect you anymore.

How wrong you were. One look at him four days ago and everything flooded back into your consciousness.

Suddenly he was _the_ most important and precious man in your life again. Irreplaceable because as far as you were concerned there was a depth to what you felt for him that no one on the outside could ever understand.

But it was all one way. What you felt for him. The love. Because he didn't feel it back.

Yet he always made a good act of it; acting like he loved you. Like yesterday. The way he looked at you like he didn't want you to go. He stalked up to you in his apartment with fiery intent in his eyes. His scent was musky, feral and undeniably his. It made you want to take a bite out of him. His breath caught in his throat and his feet shuffled to a stop millimetres away from you so that you could feel his body heat and the warm moist air of his breath. You remember his dilated pupils, the fatigue in his eyes and the bags under them. Like he was exhausted. You wanted to ask him why but then his hands gripped your hips. Your hands moved up onto his elbows to push him away but he pulled you to him. That was when any willpower you may have had vanished. Your fingers played with the dark hairs on his forearm and you offered zero resistance when he touched his mouth to yours. His lips. The scrape of stubble and moustache. His tongue was possessive. It made you whimper.

You go red and stuff your face into a pillow when you recall how you clung to him, pushed yourself into him, giving him your all until the intercom did what you were unable to do; stop you.

You showed him how weak you are because you wanted him despite what he had done to you. And all for what?

Your life is in tatters now. Everything was going fine before coming here. You had it together. A job. Beautiful kids. Loyal friends. A great man...

You were happy.

Martin made you happy, makes you happy, because you genuinely love him. You aren't lying when you say those words but you have always known that it is a different love to the one you had for Brendan. Had or have?

You can't compare the two men. They are chalk and cheese.

Now you have betrayed Martin with a kiss shared with the same person that has driven a wedge into your five year relationship and put a halt on your engagement.

You sit up and stare at your reflection in the mirror; cross-legged and dressed in shorts and one of Martin's old university t-shirts. The thin barely perceptible scars on your arms and legs act as a bookmark separating two distinct times in your life. Before and after abduction. Brendan knows the unscarred yet more submissive you. Martin knows the scarred yet more autonomous you.

You crawl over to the edge of the bed, closer to the mirror and see a dark area over your shoulder. It is tender to touch. A bruise.

You get tingly and warm remembering how you got it. How Martin had sucked and bit down on you there as he fucked you a couple of days ago. For ownership? For proximity? For fear of loss? Like an animal marking his territory he 'took' you.

But there was none of his usual warmth and tenderness.

He was distant. Even as he thrust up into you, fighting the rhythmic expulsive contractions of your anal muscles as you came all over him while riding him. Even as you kissed him when his cock pulsed hot jets of cum deep inside you. Even as you ran your hands over his face, shoulders and chest, sliding over smooth firm muscular sweaty plains of flesh and remained fully seated on him in order to keep him buried to the hilt. Even as you looked down into his brown eyes with their dilated lustful pupils and said, 'I love you, Martin' and leaned forward to press your lips against his.

Even then he felt distant. Emotionally. He looked up at you like he didn't believe you. He didn't say he loved you back the way he normally does. Instead he rolled you over onto your back without pulling out only to push your legs up, withdraw and watch as the warm trickle of his cum ran out of you. It was strange because normally you would have been turned on. But not with the cold look on Martin's face. It was almost as if he was reminding you the extent to which you had committed to each other. The level of trust you had built up to that you had betrayed.

You silently got out of bed to clean up while he silently run a hand cloth over his chest and stomach, rubbing your cum off him. When you returned, he lifted an arm out to you prompting you to slip in next to him. He spooned up behind you and wrapped an arm around you; his thumb drawing wide circles on the damp, warm skin of your stomach. His breathing evened out cooling the nape of your neck.

He must have mistaken your state of stillness for sleep after a while because he melted into a show of affection that he hadn't shown you while you were having sex. You felt a run of light kisses in your hair, neck and shoulder and the gentlest of caresses over your arm before he whispered into your ear,

"I love you, Ste."

You stand up all of a sudden and mentally tell yourself to snap out of this pity party.

Right.

You need perspective.

You walk to the hotel room window and draw the curtains back to stare at the view of Dublin city centre. People are milling around going about their daily business seven stories below you. They are strangers. This place is foreign to you. This corner of the world is not where your life is set.

Your life is back in Chester with your children, Martin, Amy and _PECKISH!_

Four days away cannot change five years. So it is decided.

You are going to be just like you always are when you travel with Martin on one of his work trips. You are going to get up and have a shower. Then you are going to take your _Lonely Planet Guide_ and explore Dublin; the tourist Dublin you haven't seen before. You are going to buy cheesy presents for your loved ones and tonight you are going to join Martin at the ball and tell him how much you love him.

When he forgives you neither of you will look back at what happened on this trip. Instead you will go back home and regale your children with stories of your adventures that will leave them wide eyed while Martin playfully dispels them as gross exaggerations.

There.

That's what you will do.

You get up with a determined spring in your step and hop into the shower. You hum a tune or two while there. You consider calling Martin to tell him jokingly how stupid your tiff has been because really all the drama was for nothing now that you have got it all in perspective.

Brendan is nothing.

You hear your mobile ring in the bedroom and quickly jump out of the hot spray of water. You grab a towel, run into the room, dive onto the bed and reach for it before it goes to answerphone.

You are disappointed when the caller ID says it's Amy and not Martin.

"Hello?" You say.

"Hello, daddy!"

It's Lucas sounding very excited.

"Hey champion!" You say smiling instinctively, forgetting all your woes in an instant. "Does mummy know you have her phone?"

"Yes. Leah and me were like, we should call daddy because he is in Ireland and he is probably missing us and stuff."

"Oh yeah?" You say, amused. "And what did mummy say?"

"She said that you were on holiday with Marty and that we should leave you in peace."

Your heart thuds. Your kids and Marty get along really well. What if you find yourself having to explain how you fucked things up with him to them? No. You won't have to because everything will be fine. This is just a blip in your relationship. Everyone has them.

"But you miss us right?" Lucas says.

"Of course I do." You say. You miss them incredibly.

"So what are you doing in Ireland?"

"Oh, you know, sightseeing and stuff."

You can hear Leah giggling and muttering something in the background.

Lucas's laughter is embarrassed.

"Ew, gross! No they're not!" He says to her.

"What is your sister saying?" You ask curiously.

"It's embarrassing!" Lucas says.

You hear you daughter shout merrily, "Dad is having alone time to kiss and cuddle Marty!"

"See! What did I say, gross!" Your son says to you.

"Let me speak to dad!" Leah shouts.

"No!" Lucas shouts back and then, "So daddy, are you and Marty going to be back in time for your birthday?"

"Yeah. We'll be back tomorrow so-"

"Cool!"

There is a pause then your daughter's voice.

"Lucas wants to know if you have got him any presents from Dublin."

"No I don't!" Lucas says. "I don't care about presents."

"Yes he does!"

"Mum! Can you tell Leah that she can speak to daddy when it is her turn please?"

You hear Amy calmly say, "How about I speak to him now? You guys go and play and we'll pick dad and Marty up from the airport tomorrow. Okay?"

You hear disgruntled 'yeses' and the stomping of little feet away from the phone then,

"Hi, chef."

"Hi. How's Chester?"

"Surviving. No catastrophes. Bistro is holding up."

"Good. Are the kids behaving?"

"Yeah. They are just missing their dad." She says. "So what were you up to yesterday? You didn't call."

"Um. I was busy. I mean, we. We were busy. Martin and me."

You are not good at lying.

_I bumped into Brendan a few days ago. I didn't tell you because I thought I'd never see him again but then I wound up having dinner at his place yesterday and that ended with us kissing. Like a full on 'rip my clothes off kiss'. Oh and Martin thinks I am still hung up on him, by the way, so he has taken off his engagement ring and given me an ultimatum to choose between him and Brendan._

But you can't say the truth. Amy will have your balls for breakfast if she finds out. She would never understand how you could compromise what you have with Martin, whom she adores, for Brendan.

So you say, "Doing stuff."

"Yeah? Care to share?"

"Nothing exciting, just, you know..." You are struggling here.

She drops her voice. "You dirty dog! Getting it on all day? That's plain greedy!"

"What?" Then you get what her dirty mind has assumed. "Oh no! Not that!"

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Ste, not now he is making an honest man of you!" She laughs lightly. "You sound worn out. Martin must have put the moves on you."

"Amy!"

"Let me have a word with your Adonis then."

Your heart skips a beat. Why does she need to speak to him?

"He is at the conference."

"Oh yeah."

"Why do you want to talk to him?"

"None of your business. I'll get him on his mobile."

Shit!

You can't let her call him. She'll find out the truth. "Look if this is so that you can organise a surprise birthday party for me, don't bother, yeah."

"Who said anything about birthday parties?" She says but you know her well. You have guessed correctly.

"Seriously Ames, don't bother calling him today." You say with anxiety creeping into your voice. Your throat is closing up. Your heart is beating fast. "His phone is on silent now anyway. Then we'll be busy at the ball tonight and we are seeing you tomorrow anyway."

"Ste, is something wrong?"

"No, why?"

"You're not sounding right."

"I'm fine." You walk to the window and stick your head out of the crack to inhale fresh air and calm down. Fucking hotel windows with their safety catches.

_Breathe in and count to ten then breathe out._

"Are you guys having problems?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Don't know. But now I am worried."

"Don't be."

"I knew this would happen."

"That what would happen?"

"This. The way you are acting now. Strange and on edge. I knew you shouldn't go to Dublin."

"It's been fine."

"You have a connection with that place. I was worried this trip would set you back."

"I am not a baby, Amy. I can handle it!"

"Most of the time you can, but that doesn't mean that there aren't going to be times when you feel vulnerable. And let's face it, Dublin carries memories for you. Going back was always going to be a bittersweet experience. I don't get why you are acting like it wasn't going to be hard."

She is right you have been in denial.

"Okay. Fine. It has been hard but I thought I could get over it." You say. "I took Marty to _Secondo_ when we arrived. You know the Italian restaurant that-"

"-That Brendan took you to? That doesn't sound like one of your better ideas."

"Yeah, I know that now." You grip your phone tightly and clear your throat. "But I, um, I thought that I could desensitise myself from _him_, you know?"

"Like what you did for the kidnapping?"

"Yeah."

"How did it go?"

"Not good. Kept thinking about _him_ and how he left-"

You clear your throat again. You are tearing up for fucks sake.

"And?"

"And I couldn't eat my meal. I freaked out a little. Kept thinking about the hospital and stuff."

"It's fine. You're coming back tomorrow and everything will be back to normal."

You take a deep shaky breath and sniff back tears. "It won't, Ames. You're right. Coming back here wasn't a good idea."

"Why?" She sounds really concerned. "Did something else happen?"

"I saw _him_." You whisper _him._

You wait for it to sink in.

"BRENDAN?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my God!"

"I, I-I had supper with him and his sons last night."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"And we kissed at the end." You exhale. "After dinner... when his kids were gone... obviously. When I was about to go..."

"You. Kissed. Brendan." She says really slowly.

"He kissed me."

She stays silent.

"Say something, Ames."

"What do you want me to say? You are engaged to be married to Martin and you kissed Brendan; the arsehole that left you when you were still recovering from life threatening injuries in hospital."

Bingo.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you let him kiss you?"

"I don't know."

"Did he explain why he dumped you?" She asks cruelly.

"No."

"He has no right to do this! Swanning in like it is his God-given right." Her hate for him hasn't dampened even a little bit. "Does Martin know?"

"No. It was a stupid moment. It was nothing."

"It's always something where Brendan's concerned. How did you even manage to sneak away for a meal with your ex without Marty knowing?"

"He hasn't been staying at the hotel. We had a small tiff."

"Shit."

"It's okay. I'm sorting it tonight."

"Is it related to Brendan?"

Your silence speaks volumes.

"Are you having second thoughts about Martin?"

"What? No!" You say too quickly.

"Because this is what always happens." She's upset. "Brendan waltzes in and throws you a bone and you take it."

"Not this time."

"Please don't fuck up what you have with Martin, Ste. Not for Brendan Brady."

XOXO

**_Seven years ago..._**

It all starts with an innocent enough conversation during a lull in service at the club. You are washing glasses when Brendan casually walks up to you at the bar and leans on it, crossing his arms across his chest.

He smiles at you so you smile back.

"Alright?" You say when he doesn't speak straight away.

"I was thinking about flying out to see my boys. Check out where their ma and that fellow of hers have relocated them."

"Oh yeah. They've finally made the move to Dublin, haven't they? You must be well chuffed that they are in your hometown now."

"I want to show them where their papa grew up." He says. "I was thinking this weekend. Leave Thursday. Get back Monday evening."

You are disappointed but you don't let it show because it is right that he see his kids. It is just that you are off this bank holiday weekend too and Amy is taking your kids to their grandfather's so you thought that Brendan and you could enjoy some time together without interruption.

"That sounds like fun. Make sure to say hi to them for me."

"Yeah." He sighs and looks like he is about to say something else but he is cut off by new punters coming up the stairs.

You turn your attention to them.

While taking their orders you are vaguely aware of Brendan slipping an envelope out of his inside jacket pocket and placing it on the bar counter before going to the office.

You quickly serve your customers then rip into the brown paper that has your name on it in his handwriting.

You smile. It is a plane ticket with your name on it; Liverpool to Dublin for this weekend. There is a post-it note on it that says,

_How about it?_

You don't act cool about it. You run into the office and throw yourself onto him, straddling him on his chair and kissing the living daylights out of him.

When you allow him to come up for air he says,

"So this is what it takes to get felt up at work."

You grin. "No. I'm cheap. I'd do so much more for so much less for you."

He buries his head into your neck and breathes you in rubbing his moustache and lips lightly over you.

"Declan will be made up. He keeps going on about you. When is he going to see you again. Etcetera. Had to shut the kid up somehow." He gives you a wry grin.

You say, "You do realise that you will need to give me the day off on Thursday."

"Shit! In that case, trip's off. You're needed here!"

You give him a shove and then another kiss at his teasing.

xo

You and he stay at a hotel during your visit to Dublin. Brendan says it's because there isn't enough room at Eileen's but you know that it is because he freaked out when she set the two of you up a room right next to the bedroom she shares with her boyfriend, Michael. It was a little too close for Brendan's liking.

Still you hang out with the boys and Eileen a lot during the four days you are there and while you get along with his sons as always, it takes a little longer to warm to Eileen.

She is full of questions.

"So you're dating? Like boyfriends?" She asks in her flat Ulster accent.

"Um. Yeah. I guess. For about a year."

"My kids adore you and they are a good litmus test."

"They are great fun. They remind me of my own."

She laughs incredulously, "You have kids?"

"Yeah. Two under fives. Bren didn't say?"

"Brendan never says."

"Me and their mother have a system going. It works, like, ninety percent of the time."

"So you have been with women?"

Nosy little cow.

"I was with their mother for some time, if that's what you mean. We still care for each other."

"So that makes you bisexual?"

"I'm gay." You say abruptly.

She nods then crow bars in, "Doesn't the age gap bother you? Bren's much older than you."

"It's never been an issue. I think we learn from each other."

This feels like a police interrogation. You want to get away from her.

"He is less of an eejit now that's for sure. You must be a good influence on him." She grins at you and that is when you think you begin to like her.

You remind yourself that Eileen was the victim of Brendan's treachery and he knowing Brendan he probably did a really shitty job of explaining that every wrong he committed to her during their marriage was a direct result of him trying to hide his sexuality. He probably never even apologised.

"He can be a right grumpy sod sometimes." You say with a conspiratorial smile.

"Aye, that he can! I'll let you into a secret. He is rarely happier than when he is right and when he has a belly full of good food!"

You laugh. "So true!"

You could grow to like her. She has punch.

"I hope he treats you right, Ste. He can be so hard to penetrate." She says. "He must be changing though, because tonight isn't something he ever did for me."

"What's happening tonight?" You ask.

She refuses to tell you more but winks like she has a secret.

Soon after Brendan pulls you away from her, clearly annoyed that she has leaked part of the surprise.

He whisks you back to the hotel and tells you to, "Dress up," and "not like a chav".

Your curiosity is peaked.

He takes you to a posh Italian restaurant in the city centre and you have a little panic. This is a _date_. Brendan has taken you on a date. A Brendan date. You should be ecstatic but you have experienced Brendan dates twice before and neither time went well.

The first time, he ran out on you at a gay bar within fifteen minutes of arriving. He flew off to Belfast, where Eileen and the kids were living at the time, because he couldn't handle the whole being 'out and proud' thing. It's never great for the ego when you scare someone out of the country.

The second time was at a restaurant back in Hollyoaks. He barely spoke or looked at you despite sitting opposite you and in the end you were so fed up with his discomfort and internalised homophobia that you stormed out half way through your meal. He ran after you, pleading with you to forgive him,

'I'm just not ready yet! Fuck, Stephen. _Everyone _was looking!'

They weren't, it was all in his head so you said,

'You know what, Bren, fuck you! Fuck off home to your closet and your self-loathing and don't bother come looking for me tomorrow because I won't want to know!'

But he did come looking and you did want to know.

Tonight is attempt number three and you aren't holding your breath over it being a success although you must admit that he has put in more effort this time. The venue. His clothes.

Brendan's suit is banging. Slick. Fitted. Perfect.

During your starters and main courses, he periodically cuts through his discomfort at being out on a 'gay date' to engage in conversation that ranges from flirty and fun ('They say oysters are an aphrodisiac' to which you reply, 'That is the cheesiest chat up line, Bren') to sweet and serious ('You like Dublin?' to which you reply, 'Very much' and he says 'I've liked having you here, Stephen').

You are having a really good time and you don't want it to end but you also know that there is a limit to how much Brendan can take. He keeps tapping his fingers on the table and looking around you. A sheen of sweat coats his forehead. Between courses his jaw works furiously on his gum. What a crime against the palate. The flapping of the tablecloth tells you that his knee is probably jerking as well. He is one big nervous twitch.

You should quit while you are ahead and get him back to the hotel and show him how proud you are of him for making this gesture tonight. Leave before he fucks things up and spoils what has been a perfect evening.

Your affable and cute waiter clears your plates away.

"Did you enjoy your meal?" He asks you. "The saltimbocca are filling and satisfying."

You nod and smile at him. "It were lovely. Thank you."

Brendan grunts his approval.

"Would you gentlemen like to see the dessert and coffee menu?" He turns to you again. "Our special today is _cannoli_ with a creamy ricotta filling, dark chocolate shavings and gold dust. They melt in your mouth."

"No. Thank you." You say, seeing Brendan tense up even more. "I think we'll take the bill."

At the same time Bren says, "Yes. We'll have a look at the menu."

You lift a surprised eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you don't want to go?"

"Thought you had a sweet tooth, Stephen. What's the rush?" He holds his hand out to the waiter to receive the dessert menus while looking at you determinedly but the waiter deposits the two menus into your palm.

"I'll give you a few minutes." He says before leaving.

You pass Brendan a menu then open your own but don't look at it. Instead, you lean back in your chair and observe his jitteriness. You play with your empty wine glass. The licks of the candle flame in the middle of the table reflect on his face.

"What?" He says when he catches you looking.

"You look really uncomfortable, like you are about to be shot."

"I'm fine."

"No one's looking at us like we are freaks, you know."

"I don't care if they do."

You smile and look at the dessert menu, ignoring his blatant lie. You do have a sweet tooth but it is the combination of sweet and tart that really gets your taste buds singing.

"I wish they had lemon drizzle cake."

Brendan raises an amused eyebrow at you. It is your favourite and he knows it.

"I take you out to a posh Italian restaurant and make myself all pretty." He points at himself. Then he lowers his voice and gives you _THE LOOK_. "And you make yourself look foxy and cute and all you want is lemon drizzle that you can get for two quid at a corner shop?"

You nod.

"Fuck me, you're a cheap date." The minute the words are out of his mouth you see him blanche.

Your smile practically splits your face in two but you know better than to say anything. _Date._ His words.

Boss.

He snaps open his menu and suddenly says,

"What about the lemon polenta cake with limoncello syrup?"

"What's that?"

"Fuck if I know but it's a dessert and it's got lemons in it." He smiles at you.

You get a wave of emotion that you try to suppress because otherwise it comes out as words that are too touchy-feely for Brendan's liking.

"I don't think I can have the whole thing." You pat your bloated stomach that is approaching 'Christmas-level full'.

Your waiter sees Brendan's raised finger and weaves his way to you.

"So we'll share." Brendan says casually.

"The limoncello cake." He tells your waiter. His tone is clipped and he is throwing the poor guy dagger eyes. "One, please, to share."

"Certainly, sir." The waiter never takes his eyes off you even while addressing and being addressed by Brendan. "An excellent choice. I am sure you will love it. The syrup is divine."

You watch Brendan clench and unclench his fists. His knee jerking reaches epic proportions and he looks like he going to punch someone.

Your waiter leaves again with your order.

"'_I'm sure you will love it._'" Brendan perfectly mimics the waiter. "'_Cannoli filled with cream. They melt in your mouth'_."

"What are you doing?" You ask looking at Bren as if he is deranged.

"Come off it, Stephen. That guy! He may as well cum all over you and get it over with!"

WHAT?

"The waiter?"

"He has been coming on to you all night!" He hisses with a hint of sulking. Is that what his tension has been about? The twitchiness?

Brendan's jealous?

You smile. "I didn't even notice."

Genuinely.

He scoffs. "Course you didn't. You never do."

"So what?"

"So I'm right here. What about when I'm not?"

You laugh. What does he mean? Does he think that you would do anything? Cheat? Get felt up? What?

"It doesn't matter, Brendan. I'm sure guys come on to you all the time."

"Not like that!" He points at the waiter who is in the distance still looking at you. How could you have not noticed before. "Fucker!"

"Okay." You say calmly trying to lower his tone and reach your hand across the table to grip his fist.

He jumps in his seat but doesn't pull away.

"Seriously, Bren. I am having a great time with you. Forget that guy." You take your hand from his and give him a wink.

"I have been really patient with that twat, Stephen. Didn't want to ruin our evening. But if he uses one more innuendo on you, we are going and you owe me one position of my choosing at a location of my choosing."

You get a little hot under the collar. You almost wish for a pun or innuendo. "Deal."

XOXO

**_Present Day (Day 4)..._**

Your taxi drops you off outside the hotel's doors. You have had a bite to eat at lunch and done some shopping; a scarf for Amy, hair accessories and bright neon pink and blue clip-on extensions for Leah, a toy car for Lucas and a unique key-ring for Martin's collection.

You have a couple of hours to kill before the ball. There is no question that you are going to go. You are prepared to do whatever it takes to get Martin back especially after your conversation with Amy.

You use the stairs to the seventh floor out of a need for exercise and take your key card out when you get to your landing ready to collapse on your bed for a few minutes kip before getting ready.

You are surprised at who is before you; blocking your way to your room. You stop in your tracks, drop your key card and shopping bags in shock and take a step back.

"Hello, Stephen."

Brendan is leaning on your door but straightens up quickly to pick up your belongings.

"Declan told me you were staying here."

You snatch the bags out of his hands and indicate for him to give you back your key but he holds onto it.

How long has he been waiting here anyway?

"Go away." You say without looking at him.

You want to crumble in despair. Why is he here?

"We need to talk."

"No. No we don't. I have somewhere to be."

"The ball tonight? Don't worry, you'll get there on time. You've got ages."

"How do you know about it?"

"It's at one of my clubs. Your boyfriend's name is on the guest list."

You square your shoulders up to him.

"He is my _fiancé_. We are getting married." You show him your ring. "Didn't you spot it yesterday."

There is a tick in his cheek that tells you he is far from happy with this news. He has always been territorial with a tendency towards jealousy. You know it's not about affection. It's about possession.

"I was too busy concentrating on your tongue down my throat." He says harshly.

Touché.

He must read your embarrassment because he adds. "No I didn't notice it. I've been ... under the weather, so to speak." He leans on the door again, heavily. "Your engagement ring must have slipped my beady eye." He looks you up and down. "You were always going to be snapped up. I suppose I should say congratulations."

"Only if you mean it."

"Then I hope you aren't offended if I don't. So where is Marco?"

He is deliberately acting like he can't remember Marty's name. "Martin."

"My bad. Martin."

You suddenly feel very exposed. It's just you and Brendan here and he has your key. How are you going to get rid of him? "He's presenting at the conference."

Brendan gives you a small smile that doesn't meet his eyes.

"Perfect."

With that he slots the key card into the door, opens it and marches into your room without invitation. You pause long enough to decide that leaving him alone in your personal space is far worse than you being in there with him.

You keep a wide breadth of him when he sits on your bed. You stand, arms folded protectively across your chest near the windows.

"Say what you need to say and then go."

"Do you have something to drink?"

"I told you yesterday I don't drink much anymore."

"I mean water."

"Oh." You shuffle around him to get to the bathroom pour him some tap water and give it to him. "I don't know if it's drinkable."

"It's fine." He says before downing the whole lot. "Cheryl found me at work to tell me that I should come and see you."

"You do everything your sister says?"

"Only when she is right."

"Well she is wrong. I don't want you here."

He rubs his forehead and you clock the beads of sweat on it. You remember that he is unwell with an unspecified illness so you soften just a little.

"You have five minutes." You look down at your feet to avoid eye contact.

"She told me this story about a Knight that changed a King. I thought that you might want to hear it. You see this King, which Chez called Brendan, lived most of his life in fear, a half life, because he held a secret." He points at his chest. "In here. And it chewed him up every day. He felt trapped. Couldn't breathe. But he thought that it was the way it was supposed to be. He thought that keeping his secret made him stronger. Then one day he met this Knight. Chez called him Stephen."

You look at him. He is looking right back at you; baring his soul. Brendan has never been so frank. It is disconcerting.

"This Knight was a cocky little fucker but strong, agile and hotter than sin. He challenged the King's way of thinking. He didn't have secrets. Everything was out in the open for him and the King had a hidden respect for that. He liked this knight. A lot. More than he was prepared to admit even to himself. He respected him and cared for him, you know."

He clears his throat.

"He, uh, the King thought that maybe he could tell the world _his_ secret because it would be worth it, to have this knight in his life. He could do that for his knight. But it was hard to change the habits of a lifetime at first. It took time for the King to change and he was thankful every day that his Knight had patience."

"Stop." You say weakly. Why is he saying all this now?

"You said five minutes." Brendan's eyes are crystal clear as they look at you. "I'm barely over one."

You bite your inner lip in frustration while he continues,

"The King never told the Knight that he meant everything to him. And it wasn't a good thing, Stephen. Not for someone like the King because it made him vulnerable and anything that made him vulnerable made the people he cared about vulnerable too. He was a bad man with enemies who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted from him."

He shakes his head at you.

"I should have kept things under wraps. I shouldn't have been so obvious with you. I should have known that it would end up the way it did. You were my weakness, Stephen, and he took advantage of it. Weaknesses are always attacked."

Your eyes widen as they connect with his. He can't be saying what you think he is saying. Your mouth feels dry. You feel tears spring in your eyes. You are shaking like a leaf.

"The kidnapping." You say it so softly it is barely a sound.

"They used you to get to me, Stephen. What you went through, all that pain and torture, was my entire fault. They hurt you because of me."

He stands up and walks to you, trapping you between the windows and his body. His eyes are bloodshot. He is crying but it is silent like the years of grief and guilt have all but exhausted him.

"Who?"

"It doesn't matter. The point is you were innocent in it all. You didn't deserve what happened to you."

Brendan knows who attacked you?

"I didn't leave you because I didn't care." His hands trace over you with a feather light touch. "I cared. I left you because being with me is dangerous and I couldn't be selfish and stay knowing that the next time you could wind up dead because of me."

His arms wrap around you. You don't push him away or protest but you don't return the embrace either. You let it happen, hearing the thud of his heart against your ear.

You feel numb inside. You don't know what to think.

"You don't remember me at the barn, do you?" Brendan says into your hair.

You shake your head against his shirt. No. You don't. There were inevitable holes in your memory of events which the doctors said were understandable given your head injury.

"No." He squeezes you so hard that you almost think he is going to suffocate you. His sniff makes you look up to see tears streaming down his face, snot collecting at his nostrils. "I can't get it out of my head. How you looked. Still and unmoving. Like you were dead. I thought I lost you, Stephen. I thought you were gone."

He looks at you with watery red eyes as if it is a miracle that you are standing before him.

He kisses you under each eye and that is when you realise that you are crying too. It is oddly soothing when he then licks your tears. It almost makes you smile.

He releases you from his vice-like grip only to hold your face between his hands. He searches your eyes, sighs and sniffs.

Then he whispers words that you never dared hope he would say to you. And he says them with such a depth of feeling that you are sure that your heart explodes out of your chest and fills your soul so completely that you radiate pure white.

"I love you, Stephen."


	22. The Reunion Warren 5

_**Six Years Ago...**_

You are hoping and praying that the kid is okay when you get there; that the recorded images of the injuries he sustained looked far worse than they actually are. He has to be alright otherwise you may as well kiss goodbye to your fifty grand and any hope that you will be the new King of Hollyoaks.

Fucking John. So much for trustworthy. The man is an untamed animal. A monster with no control. All brawn and no brain.

Now you have the mammoth job of damage limitation and dealing with a soon to be very pissed off Brendan.

Your four by four drives through the narrow single lanes of Chester's countryside with little regard for speed limits and potential oncoming traffic.

Your car's tires screech to a stop when you get to the barn, pushing a cloud of dust and gravel up into the air. Yours is the only car parked, raising concern that John has already done a runner. You shove your gun into the back of your jeans hiding it from view with your t-shirt and jump out of your jeep into the bright summer weather. You run towards the closed heavy double doors of the barn. They open before you get to them and John steps out.

He looks like he is about to escape; frazzled, sweaty and nervous. His clothes are soiled with dust and debris as if he has been rolling around on the ground. The dressing covering his left cheek is almost completely soaked with blood.

You assess him quickly. He is normally packing but you can't see his gun. Not that that means anything. You have to be careful with him.

"What happened to your face?" You ask. As if you don't know already that Ste tore it up with the lid of a tin can.

"Fell."

"You going somewhere?" You ask innocently.

"No." He scratches his forehead with a finger then looks at his watch. "That was quick, boss."

"I find that money is a great motivator." You shove past him nearly toppling him over as you head to the barn's doors. "You got the package ready for exchange?"

He follows you into the dark musky smelling barn.

You take inventory. Unopened baked bean cans and the flasks of water are in a corner. The piss bucket and toppled over chair are in the middle of the room. Your eyes track to a dark spot on the ground where Ste had been lying earlier on images you watched.

It is a stagnant pool of congealed blood. There is a smear that extends from it towards the barn's entrance, getting fainter until it disappears altogether.

No weasel-face.

No surprise.

You knew John would try to hide his fuck up.

You face him.

"There seems to be something missing here." You keep your voice low. Measured.

"Yeah. About that..." He takes a step back.

"Where is Ste?" You say as your anger builds.

He gives you a nervous laugh and says. "The thing is, Warren, when I find out that I have been on candid camera so that you can incriminate me, cover your behind and put _me_ in the shit, I get angry and disappointed and frankly a little insulted."

So he found the camera.

"The camera was to keep the package safe when neither of us were around. Not to watch you. I didn't realise that I had to... until today."

He laughs nervously. "Today was a misunderstanding."

"Where is he?"

He approaches you. "I showed him. He had it coming. Cocky little fucker tried to escape."

You get flashes of the images you saw earlier and feel queasy. You, the hard man. That is how disturbing John's actions were.

"You were supposed to keep him unharmed."

"It's not my fault he didn't listen."

Your patience has run out. You produce your gun and point it at him.

"Show me where he is. He needs medical attention."

John starts laughing and you realise then that the man is mad. You don't know how you didn't notice before. Perhaps because it has always been a help rather than a hindrance in past jobs.

His laughing stops abruptly. "I'm sorry, boss, but I think it might be too late for medical attention."

"What?" Your gun falters in your hand.

"I guess what I'm saying is that I'm not sure you're going to get your money in exchange for a dead package. A personal theory. I might be wrong."

Your world bottoms out.

Is John implying that a simple abduction has been upgraded into a murder?

You don't need this shit. This whole kidnapping exercise has been completely counterproductive and backfired in your face. Now you have blood on your hands without being any richer.

You think fast. You need to come out of this unscathed somehow. If you can completely implicate John then you might be able to get off scot free.

"Show me the body." You take the safety off the gun.

"Don't worry. I've taken care of it."

"Where?"

"Out the back."

You keep your gun pointed at him and indicate for him to lead the way. He slowly walks you round to the back to a wooded area. Your eyes scan the perimeter looking for the lad. You can't see him anywhere.

You press the gun into John's back and hiss, "You had better not be playing games with me."

"I'm not." He says. That is when you see his eyes subconsciously flit to a raised mound of soil in the ground. If that's a shallow grave it is a pitiful attempt to hide a corpse. You walk over to it and get down on your knees. You keep your gun pointed at John with one hand while the other digs furiously.

He watches you silently. When your fingers touch damp cold cloth your heart sinks. Shit. He wasn't lying. He's fucking buried the lad. But when you tug at the cloth, Ste's bloodied _Chez-Chez_ t-shirt pulls out of the ground minus Ste. You delve some more and you fish out his underwear, trousers, his shoes and socks, the camera you set up and John's gun.

You check it (still loaded) and pocket it. It might come in handy.

Still there is no body. This is just John's pitiful attempt to hide evidence. So where is the biggest evidence of all?

Where is Ste?

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

You check out the red brick building, nod and emit a low whistle of approval.

Brendan has done alright for himself. This place looks nice. Slick. Classy. Everything _Chez-Chez_ wasn't with its brash logo and even brasher clientele.

This is _VIBE_, a member's only nightclub.

It is the middle of the day so you are half expecting the unassuming door to the building to be closed but it isn't. You push it open and it leads to a tastefully decorated low-lit hall that goes up to some stairs with dripping chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

A very nice first impression.

The stairs lead to a landing that opens up to a room which is surprisingly spacious. The staircase continues to what must be a second floor.

You stop at the first though and call out,

"Hello!" You walk into the room. "Is anybody here?"

You automatically walk behind the bar and help yourself to a pint of lager, releasing a satisfying belch after downing it in one.

"We're closed."

You look across the room to a young woman that is standing near a door that you assume leads to an office.

She's tasty with the lithe physique of a high jump athlete covered by a pair of skinny jeans and a loose off the shoulder lightweight top. She is wearing impossibly high black patent heels. Her long shiny loosely plaited dark hair is swept to one side. Her drop earrings accentuate her long neck. Her eyes are blue and piercing, almost feline.

It's a shame the look is spoilt by apprehension since her arms are crossed over her chest and she looks at you like you might rape her any minute.

You know who she is already. You have done your research. Nicola Manzoni. Co-owner of this club and another on the other side of town.

You put on your friendliest, most approachable smile and say,

"The door was open downstairs so I came up. I was looking for someone. I'm sorry. I'll go." You round the bar and head for the stairs again.

You hear her sniff behind you.

"Who were you looking for?" She asks.

You smirk at yourself then you turn around. "My friend, Brendan."

"Brady?" She asks for clarification.

You give her a small regretful smile. "We lost touch for a while. I moved away. States. Back now and we thought we should catch up."

She looks at you sceptically as you walk up to her with your arm out ready for a handshake. Now that you are up close and personal she looks tired, like she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"I'm Warren, by the way." You shake her limp hand as she eyes you up carefully.

"I'm sorry but he has never mentioned a Warren to me before." She pulls her hand away and folds her arms again.

You laugh lightly. "That's Brendan for you. He's not exactly one for sharing details of his past, is he?"

She shrugs and keeps looking over at the stairs as if working out how easy it would be to run away if things got dangerous.

Bitch. Why isn't she falling for your charms the way women normally do?

"He has told me about you though. Nicola, right?"

"Brendan calls me Niks."

"You are very close to him, aren't you? He speaks very highly of you."

She melts a little at the compliment. "Yeah well, we have been pissing each other off for five years now so." She eyes you up and down trying to calculate whether to trust you. "So when you say you are his friend...?"

You get what she means straight away. "I mean friend." You point at your physique; all six foot three, two hundred and twenty pounds of you. "I'm not exactly Bren's type, now am I?" You laugh. "And anyway, I'm straight."

She finally cracks a smile. "I've heard that before. Believe me. People yo-yo all over that Kinsey scale when Brendan and a bit of booze are involved."

"Not me." You grin back. "So is he going to be in later?"

She chews her lip, lightly strokes her arms as if giving herself a hug and then looks away. "No. Not here. He should be at the_ ELECTRIC_ though from about nine."

You nod. "Thanks."

"I'll tell him to expect you then, Warren." She says.

"Don't bother. I want to surprise him."

"He'll like that, you know, with everything that has gone on in the last month."

You go blank. What's been going on? You imitate her morose expression, and say, "Yes. I think he will."

She suddenly stands up and delves into her pocket to get her phone out. "Did you get here by taxi?"

"Yes."

She grins. "Let me order you a cab. On the house. What hotel are you staying at?"

XOXO

_**Six years ago...**_

"Where is he?" You ask John. You have no patience left.

"I told you. I've taken care of it."

You stand up and march up to him and push the gun into his forehead, jabbing against it a few times for good measure. "I'm not playing games, John. Fucking show me where he is."

The big man finally looks scared. "Okay. Okay. I'll show you but I can't have this coming out. Linda can't know what happened." His wife. He is thinking about his wife at a time like this.

He becomes hysterical.

"And if I get done for this, with my record, I am going in for life! I can't do that!"

You knee him in the stomach to level him out and he lets out a chocked cry. You stop him from going down by holding him up under his armpits.

You whisper calmly into his ear. "Then help me help you. Show me where he is. We will destroy the evidence together. It will be like this never happened. I can't let you take the fall for this alone. I know that. You'd sing like a bird, wouldn't you? Give them my name. I get that. Let's help each other out, ey? Come on."

He is sobbing now.

"I just don't want him to talk." He moans.

"Who?"

"The package."

Fuck.

You let go of John's shoulders and he stumbles. What is he saying?

"Are you saying Ste is alive?"

He nods while crying. "Barely."

This guy is fucked up in the head. But now you understand how his brain works. You know what he meant by "I've taken care of it". He was planning to leave Ste for dead or kill him off to hide any evidence of what he had done.

You think hard. Where could Weasel-face be? There aren't that many places in the vicinity. Then you remember John's 'missing' car.

"He is in your car." You say. You are sure of it.

You know the area well that even know where he has parked. You run to the only clearing in the woods that is out of sight of the road and within close distance of the barn. John follows you.

Bingo. His car is there. You pull your gun away from him while you look through the windows. There is no one there. You use your sleeve to try the boot. It doesn't open so you shoot at the lock and force it open making sure not to leave finger prints.

The moment you look inside your hand goes up to cover your face in shock and disgust. You feel like retching.

This. Is. Not. Good.

Ste is naked, curled up and facing away from you. There are multiple grazes over his back and buttocks, mainly superficial, covered in dirt and mud. They are the least of his injuries. His hair is wet and matted at the back by congealed blood. He has a big ugly bruise over his left chest (you suspect that was the injury you inflicted on him when you got him in the alleyway on his way home). It's his legs and left arm that surprise you. They are abnormally angled. In fact his left leg has an open fracture. His limbs are broken.

That wasn't the case in the VT.

It takes you a second to figure out how these injuries were inflicted. The edges on the boot door are bloodied and dented. Ste must have been conscious when John tried to get him into the boot.

"Ste, wake up!" You say loudly but don't get a response.

The lad must have struggled to try to get out of the boot while John repeatedly tried closing it against his flailing limbs until they got cracked and the excruciating pain rendered the lad submissive.

"Jesus, John." You say looking at the man.

He looks back at you, bewildered. "He wouldn't stop moving."

You press into Ste's shoulder; into that spot that makes grown hard men drop to the floor to see whether he reacts.

He doesn't flinch but at least he is warm. You feel for a pulse in his neck. It is there. Weak but present.

You are about to fish your phone out of your pocket to call for an ambulance when you hear a screech of tires on gravel. That is rapidly followed by the opening and closing of a door.

"Shit!" John shouts then bolts probably assuming it's the police.

Idiot.

You know it isn't. How would they know you were here this quickly? You have your suspicions of who it is though.

You don't bother running after John. He is a slow lumbering large twat so he is an easy target. You aim for his legs and shoot them both using his own gun which has a silencer. His cries out in pain and falls to the ground a few feet away from you. The bastard can't escape.

This is all on him.

Moments later, you hear someone running round the barn towards you.

You look over.

As you suspected it is Brendan. He must have tailed you. Clever fucker.

You are in a pinch here but you work well under pressure. You have to somehow not end up dead or in jail despite your archenemy showing up. It won't be easy to come out of this smelling like roses.

A barn.

A pile of exposed evidence in a shallow grave at the back of it.

A motionless very injured innocent man.

A writhing injured very guilty man.

A protective Irish lover with a very violent streak.

All within metres of you.

This will be interesting.

You crack your neck in preparation for a showdown and look at Brendan.

"Hiya, Tache-man." You say conversationally, blocking the open boot from his sight. You keep your hand on the trigger of your gun but you aren't pointing it at him, yet.

"What's going on here, foxy? I saw you speed out of the village like a bat out of hell so I thought I'd come along and check out what all the fuss was about." He says.

He looks at John who is gripping his legs in pain and wailing. "It isn't normal to turn on your accomplices, Warren. At least that is who I'm assuming he is."

"He was. Now he is an arsehole I want nothing to do with." You say calmly.

He is trying to make sense of the situation. Calculating and evaluating. He is hiding it fairly well but you know that behind all that bravado he is worried sick. His wide anxious eyes and film of sweat give him away.

"I see that. Now, how about you hand over Stephen and I'll give you some money and we'll call it a day well spent." He says.

There is a crack in his voice that belies the calm veneer. He tries a smile but it is brief and goes nowhere near his eyes.

As if by magic a gun appears in his hand pointed at you.

A standoff. How fun. Now the adrenaline is pumping.

You take a deep breath and take a gamble. If what you have witnessed over the last few months between Ste and Brendan is real then this should work. If Brendan really cares for Ste then getting him sorted will take priority, revenge will be a close second and anything else will be forgotten, at least to begin with.

"Call an ambulance, Brendan." You say firmly.

He frowns at you as he glances at John again. "You must have mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck. I'm not calling an ambulance for that twat."

"Not for him." You say as calmly as possible and side step so that the boot is in view. "For him."

Brendan looks at you sceptically but you know that his mind is racing. You point into the trunk and he takes slow steps towards you while keeping the gun trained on you. It is only when he is almost right next to the car that he looks down.

The groan that comes out of him is unlike anything you have heard come out of a human being. It is the perfect intonation of pain and loss. His hand that is holding the gun goes limp and he almost tumbles into the boot with his loss of tone, his face grief-stricken as he wraps his arms around Ste. You are shocked at the level of emotion he is displaying in front of you. He stuffs his face into Ste's neck and he inadvertently smears blood onto himself.

"No." Is the only decipherable sound that comes out of him, while he wraps Ste's broken limp body in his arms.

"I don't think you should move him." You say. "I'll get an ambulance. He needs to be in hospital."

He turns to you helplessly with red wet blood shot eyes. He gently settles Ste back into the trunk and takes his coat off to lay it on the lad's exposed body.

"Brendan?"

Jesus. Peter Hamill is here, too. The fuck? He wheels up to you looking understandably concerned at his friend's broken expression. He spots the blood covering Brendan's shirt, face and hands and looks at you.

"It's not Brendan's blood." You tell him, in case he has a gun too and decides to shoot you down to protect his friend.

"What's going on?" Pete asks anxiously. "Where's Ste?"

"Did he do this?" Brendan sneers at you. You know he is referring to John.

There is pure concentrated anger in his eyes. You know the lengths to which a man can go when something precious has been harmed or taken away from him. You've been there yourself. Your mind becomes tunnelled. Filled with only one focus.

To seek revenge.

You look at John and realise that this is your 'get out of jail free' card. You can get rid of John and without even having to pull the trigger.

Brendan stands up slowly and shoves you so hard that you nearly fall over. "I said, did your partner do this to Stephen?"

You look at him, point blank in the eye and say, "Yes. Ste getting injured was not in my best interests. I knew that but this man is an animal. He fucked your boyfriend up and was about to dump him somewhere before making a runner. That's why I-"

You show him your gun to explain how you shot John.

Brendan rubs his face slowly, spreading Ste's blood all over him as he looks at you. His eyes are practically black, that is how dilated his pupils are. He looks otherworldly. Sinister. Still.

He is going to fucking shoot you. You are certain of it. Whatever your excuses you are the one who kidnapped the lad. This is still all your fault. You shakily raise you gun to him ready to play 'fastest finger first' but he just stares at you. Silently. Motionless. You could shoot him but that would be ridiculous. The body count is already looking like two more than you would like.

So you hold your breath and wait for his move.

He turns away from you and you exhale with relief.

He walks towards John; his gait is steady and a little shaky as if he is suffering from shock. It is as if he is a zombie. A member of the living dead.

His gun is loosely by his side yet he still looks ready for action. Peter tries to wheel himself towards Brendan but the terrain is murder on his wheels. It behaves like quicksand and he becomes wedged to the spot, yards away from his friend.

"Brendan. Don't do it, mate." He shouts at his friend while you try to hide a smile. _Go on. Pull the trigger. Finish John off. Let me off the hook. _

Pete continues to discourage him. You wish he would shut up. "Let the cops handle him. Don't get involved. Let's get Ste sorted, yeah?"

"Just call a fucking ambulance, Pete, yeah?" He replies in an even voice as he stands over a cowering John. "NOW!"

"Shit!" Peter grabs his phone and presses three digits. You hear him speak quickly into his phone to the emergency services.

John covers his head with his hands then tries to crawl away using his hands as Brendan points his gun at him. He kicks your accomplice so that he rolls onto his back.

"Look at me." He sneers at John.

It is such a forceful command that your accomplice does just that.

There must be a time when it becomes clear that one is about to meet one's fate. John must be having his epiphany now because he cackles at Brendan and says.

"I don't know what you are so upset about. Your boyfriend just lies there while you're fucking him. At least he did with me. He is seriously shit in bed."

The only sign that the words penetrate Brendan's senses is the slow shutting and then opening of his eyes.

The end is clinical. A straight arm aiming right between John's eyes. A single click, the loud clap of a gunshot and then the thud of a man as his lifeless body hits the ground.

You hear Pete say, "Quick, Bren. The ambulance is coming. What are we going to do now?"


	23. The Reunion Brendan 5

The Reunion 23. Brendan.

_**Present Day (Day 4)...**_

Chez scribbles something on a scrap of paper and tosses it onto the desk.

"Right. I'm off. Think about what I said though about Ste, yeah? And I am coming with you to see the oncologist next week. No arguments!"

You scowl at her when she lays two fat ones on each of your cheeks. "Love you, bro."

"Yeah." You mumble as she leaves.

Her words of advice go round in your head after she is gone. You pace the length and breadth of the office while thinking.

You could do without her meddling in your personal life. Cheryl doesn't know what she is talking about. There is no way Stephen and you could get back together, forgetting six years apart, his boyfriend, his hatred for you and your cancer.

Cheryl can't understand that because she is your polar opposite; a romantic to your realist. She says that is how she met her husband, Carlo, during a girly road trip around Italy with Lynsey. Having had a whirlwind courtship, shotgun wedding and three sprogs in quick succession Cheryl has developed an unpleasant habit of behaving like she is an authority on having the perfect happy life.

A typical exchange between you and Mrs. Fiorelli goes along these lines,

'_So, I saw a picture of you walking around town with a guy in the BUZZ yesterday. You looked cosy.'_

'_Not really.' _

'_Is he your boyfriend?'_ She would say.

You wouldn't deign the question with an answer. Your hook ups are nobody's business but your own.

'_Carlo's cousin is coming for a holiday. He's nice.'_

'_Not interested.'_

'_You haven't seen his picture, Bren. He's cute.'_

'_I do okay picking guys up without help.'_

'_I'm talking about a boyfriend, Bren.'_

'_And I'm saying no, Chez.'_

That is what you have to deal with from Cheryl.

You pick up the scrap piece of paper your sister put on the desk. It has Stephen's hotel address and room number on it. Your mind pictures you walking up the steps to the foyer of his hotel. Anticipation builds as you take the lift to his floor. You knock on his door and don't wait long before Stephen opens it to welcome you with a mixture of apprehension and hope. He silently grabs your t-shirt, bunching the material into a fist and pulls you in. Then, in your fantasy, he kisses you like he did yesterday.

At your apartment he didn't push you away straight away like you expected. You had a chance to savour him. Your fingers skimmed his skin as your lips touched his. Your tongues tousled for control. His low moan and then whimper were unchanged by time; an auditory aphrodisiac shooting down to your groin making you want to take him there and then. His hands felt you up and you reclaimed him, if only for that moment. You remembered the old and memorised the new.

It was Stephen; not an approximation or a look-a-like.

Not yours any more. His. That Martin's.

Stephen has taught you that it doesn't pay to develop an emotional dependence to someone. An intimate affection. It only leads to heart ache and pain, for everyone involved.

And yet he meanders through your mind refusing to leave as you pace through your office.

He is under your skin.

Fuck it. You grab your keys, phone and wallet and head out of _THE ELECTRIC_.

Your intention is poorly formed but has something to do with getting closure or moving on.

You hail a taxi.

"The O'Callaghan Davenport, please."

XOXO

_**Six years ago..**_**.**

Stephen is in the intensive care unit of Chester Royal Hospital, comatose and hooked up to half a dozen drips and machines; a frail, pale, bandaged dot in a sea of white sheets. You stand outside the double doors of the ward staring in. You appear composed to the untrained eye but those who know you well would recognise the pent up tension.

You have never felt so helpless in your life; so out of control. You want to barge into the department and tell the staff to sort him out. Now. You want to shake him firmly and tell him to stop messing about and get better already. You want to beg for forgiveness for doing this to him because you blame yourself for every cut, graze and broken limb he has suffered.

_This is your entire fault_.

In the middle of the night fatigue and dimmed lights play tricks on you. You are sure he opens his eyes, looks at you through the window and smiles, forgiving you for putting him through all this. Sometimes you imagine him pulling out his IV lines, breaking out of his plaster casts and walking towards you fully healed. When you blink, however, he is back to being broken and unmoving in his bed.

Every day that passes comes with a decline in hope and optimism. It makes you think of the unthinkable, unbearable and unpalatable; that he may never recover.

Your sense of guilt rises.

_This is your fault_.

When Cheryl calls you to say that he has woken up you want to burst through your skin with relief. She offers to give you a ride to the hospital.

_Come on, Bren. You've got to see him sometime. I know it's tough to see him like that but he needs you now. He's been asking about you._

You refuse.

_Sorry, sis. Work. Delivery coming in. Meeting with someone and what not._

What you really mean is that you have finally got it into your thick skull that you can't be with him. It's simple. Had you not been in a relationship with Stephen what happened to him wouldn't have happened. Fact. If you were to go back to him now it would be a selfish move because you alone would benefit. He would be putting his life in danger. You are toxic. You can't completely stay away though; not until you know he is definitely going to be okay. You continue your nocturnal trips to the hospital.

The support of people around you turns to anger, resentment and disappointment. They call you a shit boyfriend, insensitive prick, heartless twat, waste of space for not supporting Stephen.

They could never understand how hard it is for you to stay away when all you want to do is go to him and touch him, talk to him to reassure yourself that he is still the same old Stephen under that shell of bruises and broken limbs.

You observe him through glass as he spends most of his time sleeping, sometimes waking up screaming. He speaks to the nursing staff. He quenches his thirst, his lips chasing the tip of the straw poking out of a plastic cup as it dances away from him until he captures it. He stares into nothing with wide frightened eyes. Night inevitably turns into day and he eats his breakfast gingerly using his good arm. You know that he is in a constant world of pain but he never complains.

Atta boy. That's something you have always admired in him. He might look like a slip of a thing but he is tough, is Stephen. He'll be alright without you.

Better, in fact. _Because this is your entire fault_.

When he finishes his breakfast it is your queue to go before the nursing staff handover and ward rounds begins.

xo

You come to see him on the tenth day. He isn't in his bed when you look through the doors of ICU.

Where is he?

You ring the intercom frantically as your heart shoots up into your mouth. A nurse lets you in and you know you must look like a man on the verge of a breakdown.

'_Where's Stephen?'_ You ask failing to control your anxiety and fear. You feel tears begin to sting your eyeballs.

'_It's okay.'_ She gives you a reassuring smile._ 'He was transferred to ward 29 today.'_

'_What does that mean?' _Tell me he is fine.

'_He's fine. It means his level of care has been downgraded. Your brother is on the mend.'_

You keep finding reasons not to sever ties yet but eventually run out of excuses.

It is time to say goodbye.

xo

D-day is day twenty-one of Stephen's hospital stay. You are exhausted from burning the candle at both ends; working at the club and then coming to the hospital for an all night vigil. This is the first time that you see him during normal visiting times. You actually step onto the ward. You take a breath before entering his side room.

He is asleep. Baggy pyjama bottoms partly cover his legs. His chest reveals a yellow bruise and a couple of dressings. His hair is very short following emergency surgery to remove a blood clot on his brain. His left arm and right leg are in a plaster of Paris; his left leg has a long scar down it from the metal plate they inserted for internal fixation but his pallor and the darkness under his eyes are gone.

He is mending.

See. Without you around he is doing alright.

You touch his hair. Spiky. You run your fingers over his face to remind yourself of how he feels. Three weeks without touching him. It's been torture.

Stephen has changed you. There is no doubt about that. It happened slowly and unconsciously. He unmasked a man you never thought you would be. Someone your father abhors. A man who is attracted to another man and is unashamed about it. A man who has gone one step further and declared his desire to be a part of that man's life.

"_I just think it makes more sense for you to flat share, Stephen. With me."_

You. Mister 'Bullet Proof' needing someone else in your life.

It was never going to work out. Now you are simply acknowledging that a man like you isn't designed to be with someone... in a relationship. It's a shame it took something as big as what happened to Stephen to make you realise that.

He looks peaceful as your fingers feel the slight stubble on his cheeks; a foreign feeling given Stephen's preference for a smooth finish. Over the last two years you have woken up sometimes in the middle of the night and stare at him. He has looked just like this until his eyes would open. He would smile and whisper,

'_I knew you were watching me. That's creepy that.'_

And you would scoff. _'Don't flatter yourself.'_

"Brendan."

You pull your hand away.

He is awake.

"I thought I was dreaming." Stephen whispers to you in wonder, his voice full of sleep. "You're here."

He slowly shuffles to sit up using his elbows as leverage; wincing yet smiling at the same time.

"Hi." He says shyly. He reaches for your hand, pulling wires with him. You step out of reach. He doesn't know what's coming. He is consumed with joy.

"Chez, Pete and Ames kept saying you couldn't come because you were dead busy." He cocks his head to one side. "But I know they were lying. You were scared, weren't you? You were worried about seeing me."

How does he know?

"I know you and I would be too if I were in your shoes." He presses his fingers against the crucifix around his neck that you gave him. The one that was meant to protect him but didn't. "They say I nearly died."

You picture him unconscious in that car boot; how Warren had lifted him like a ragdoll to place him on the ground near the barn.

You get a wave of sickness. He could have died because of you.

"I know this sounds daft but I touched this when I missed ya." He rolls the crucifix between his fingers.

He winces and a lump catches in your throat.

"You in pain, Stephen? You want me to get the nurse?"

"No. I'm fine. I'm not due anymore pain tablets anyway."

He looks you over and a small smile creeps over his features.

"I've been thinking," A blush suffuses his cheeks, "That maybe when I get out I can move straight into yours? Like, since I were going to anyway and everything. I were, weren't I? I remember you asking."

You don't say anything. Instead, you commit every part of him to memory; that strange coyness, the hint of rebellion, his features...

"You won't have to care for me or anything." He says quickly, mistaking your silence for concern about being a full-time carer to him. "I'm going to be okay. It's just, like, I've got to do a lot of physio though after my bones are healed."

"Yeah." You say gruffly then clear your throat.

"And, like, my brain is a bit foggy right now but they say it will get better." When he reaches for your hand again with his unhurt arm, you let him hold it. You shouldn't but you do. "I don't remember everything that happened. But like there are bits that go over and over again in my head, Bren."

He sniffs and then looks at you with watery eyes.

You know the extent of his injuries and about the rape and have tortured yourself with visions of how they may have happened for weeks. Is that what keeps going round in his head? The actual events? How can you go into his brain and remove those thoughts so that he doesn't have to relive them?

"Bad things?" You ask quietly.

He looks so young and vulnerable when he nods at you, the action releasing tears down his cheek. "It won't stop."

"It will." You say quietly but firmly, squeezing his hand. "With time. It will get better, Stephen. Everything does."

He smiles through his tears and you think he looks beautiful. Can a man say that about another man? Fuck it. It is fact. He is beautiful to you.

"I missed you." He says.

You let go of his hand like it has burnt you.

_I missed you, too._

"Shut up."

He frowns. "What?"

He looks so confused like he must have misheard you.

So you repeat the words, slowly, because this needs to be done.

"I said shut up."

"I don't understand."

"It's over." You say firmly. "That's what I came to say."

Your vision is blurred. You blink and your sight clears. God help you, you are crying.

He stammers, "W-w-what?"

"I'm done with you, Stephen."

His lower lip wobbles. His eyes redden as they stare at you. "Why are you doing this?"

You get angry then because he is making this harder than it has to be. Why can't he realise that this is the right thing to happen? That he should be the one booting you out of his room because you are bad news.

"Look at you, for fuck's sake!" You sneer.

He stares down at his broken body. "But this isn't my fault." He whispers in upset. "Someone did t-t-this... to me. I f-f-fought, Brendan. As hard as I could. I t-t-tried."

He reaches his hand out again but you thwart it away. The sound of the sharp slap echoes in the room and he looks stunned; like he is in a nightmare.

You are aching from the effort of not going back on your words. You want to rub his tears away and comfort him.

"It doesn't matter anyway." You say. "I don't want you anymore. We can't be together."

"No!" He says, urgently and anxiously. "No please, Bren. Not now. Please! I need you. I love you."

You can't bare the ache in his voice.

You swoop down to kiss him without thinking to shut him up. To give yourself one last reminder of him. You don't know. It is ferocious. It says what you really feel but can't say. It is over too soon when you push away before he has a chance to kiss you back.

"But I don't love you, Stephen. I never have."

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 4)...**_

You have Stephen crying and trapped against the wall in his hotel room. He wants you gone. His body is tense and unyielding against yours. He looks at you, breathing fast. His hands are plastered to the wall either side of him as if trying to disappear into its fabric.

Coming here was a big mistake. You should leave now before you make matters even worse but you don't.

You stumble over your words. When it comes to matters of the heart you are well out of your depth.

"I can't get it out of my head. How you looked. Still and unmoving. Like you were dead. I thought I lost you, Stephen. I thought you were gone and I felt like it was my fault."

You hold his face in your hands and kiss under each eye to stop the flow of his tears. Then you look resolutely at him.

His pupils are blown wide, baffled at what you are getting at.

You go against your better judgement. You take your sister's advice. You 'give it a shot'.

"I love you, Stephen."

There.

Finally.

You've say it and the world hasn't stopped. The fires of hell that your father threatens you with haven't burnt you to a crisp. There are no feelings of self-loathing and shame. You feel a great weight lift off your shoulders though. You breathe easier.

Your thumbs idly stroke his wet cheeks and you greedily study him. His simple t-shirt and shorts covering a lithe, toned and tanned body. His unfamiliar haircut. The gold ring on his finger...

The fucking engagement ring.

_You moron. He is engaged to be married. What are you doing? _

You take your hands off him and take a step away from him.

He looks back at you, unblinking.

"What?" He whispers.

"Don't worry. I'm not... I know that you and Martin..." _Do you really expect him to leave everything he has built over the last five years just because you finally said those three words? Eejit. _"You've moved on, Stephen, and that's a good thing. Your fella, he seems alright if you like that sort of thing."

It's the closest you are going to get to a compliment about his other half.

"You said you love me." He says slowly then frowns. "I don't believe you."

He folds his arms across his chest. After how you dumped him you don't blame him.

"What I said at the hospital." You say. "It was all lies. I didn't mean a word of it. I said it because I wanted you to hate me, Stephen, to stop looking at me like I was good for you because I wasn't. I'm not. I thought you were better off without me."

His eyes are guarded. He chews on his bottom lip.

"How was that your decision to make?" He takes a step closer to you as he shakes his head. "You really don't get relationships, do you? I was dead happy when I was with you, Brendan. I loved you. I loved how you made me feel like you would do anything for me."

_If you only knew._

"Do you want to know why people get into relationships?" He asks quietly.

No but you know why you were with Stephen; why you found it so hard to let him go. He brought light into your dark soul. He made you feel settled. He was an emotional anchor. You couldn't picture him out of your life.

"People form relationships because it's better facing the world with someone you love than going it alone. You get to share your highs and you get support through your lows. Everything feels better because it is shared and your partner is there when you need him by your side; saying nice things, holding you close, never letting you go."

His words are a verbal slap to the face.

"That is all I ever wanted, Brendan. I don't need a superhero to save me and protect me. I'm pretty tough, me. I just wanted you there."

"I am sorry, Stephen."

Three words that are just as rarely uttered by you as 'I love you'. You mean it, though. You see where he is coming from. Altruism or not, you left him when he was at his weakest, when he needed you most.

Your hand curls around the back of his head instinctively, grazing over his short hair. Your fingers run along the raised bump of the scar there, feeling its smoothness.

"I did what I felt was right at the time."

"It doesn't matter, anyway, because I'm with Martin now."

"I know." All he seems to do is remind you of the fact.

_I'm too late. I get it._

"So you can go now." He says. "I have to get ready to see him."

He blinks once. Twice. Thrice. Is there hesitation there or are you wishful thinking?

Who are you kidding? The gold band on his finger reminds you of his commitment to Martin. What they have is real whether you like it or not. It surpasses what he had with Noah in depth and what he had with you in longevity and meaning.

This visit is a pointless exercise.

"I'm happy for you, Stephen." You say. You are only half lying. You _are_ glad that he is in good health and content. You aren't happy that it isn't with you but that's your fault so.

"Look at you."

You run your hands over his chest and he pushes you off him angrily.

"You look... good." You ignore his rejection and grip his left wrist. When he tries to shake you off yet again you hold on firmly. You force him to look at you and throw caution to the wind. "I never stopped thinking about you, Stephen. Not for a day. I missed you."

His eyes widen, followed by his mouth opening and shutting like a decked fish. His hands are in fists by his side. Is he angry? You wouldn't blame him if he was. You are behaving like a mind fuck of epic proportions. You don't know what you are playing at but you feel like this is your last chance to tell him the truth. You owe him that much.

He shoves you hard in the chest and you stumble backwards with the resistance of a blade of grass in a light breeze. Luckily you don't fall but your disease has done a number on your strength.

Stephen is livid.

"You don't get to say stuff like that to me!" He shouts. He shoves you again and this time you fall back onto his bed landing with an ungracious thump.

He looks down at you breathing heavily. His white knuckled fists are by his side, poised for a fight.

"I spent weeks waiting for you to see me in hospital, Bren! Then you came and dumped me for no good reason. I spent months, years getting over you! It wasn't easy but I did. I have. I am with someone else! Are you listening?"

Stephen's cheeks are red and his pupils blown wide with the adrenaline rush. God, he is passionate and not just in anger but with everything; food, his kids, sex, action movies. You had forgotten that. It gets your blood pumping. Makes you feel alive.

If you were to grip his wrist right now his pulse will be going a mile a minute and you would feel that tremble that rushes through his whole body when he gets like this.

He points at you angrily. "Martin is amazing and he loves me. Like really. And I love him! So don't think you can come here and say words that you don't mean and think that I am going to change my mind! I'm not. I..."

You don't think. You just act. You sit up quickly and pull him down on top of you stopping his rant. He lands on you looking down in disbelief when you grip his wrists. Just like you thought. Speeding pulse. Tremble.

"Get off!" He tries to break free, straddling your hips to push off you. He is much stronger than he looks you and with your new found weakness he will break free soon so you resort to dirty measures hoping that he won't bite your tongue off. You lift your head off the bed and press your lips to his without warning, opening up the second you have contact. You groan at the familiar feeling of him against you, the slight parting of his soft pouty lips under the pressure of yours.

He doesn't respond to your advances so you pull away to look up at him. Interestingly, he doesn't get off you either. He looks down at you and his tongue darts out to touch his wet lips.

There is a spark of awareness. Are you alone in feeling it? He looks down at your joint bodies, realising the intimacy of your positions. He must feel it too. It is electric. Fiery. It always has been.

You want to kiss him again but you aren't going to force him this time so you let go of his hands.

You wait and hope. He takes a breath, shuts his eyes. He shuffles above you and your heart sinks because your gamble hasn't paid off. He is going to tell you to fuck off.

But he doesn't. He leans down and _he_ kisses _you_. Hard. Bruising your lips. There is nothing tentative about it. He is full on. His hands land either side of your face, trapping you. You don't mind. You are quick to burrow yours under his t-shirt. God knows he'll snap out of this erotic charge soon enough and chuck you out. You plan to take full advantage of the now. You bunch his top under his armpits to feel the warm plains of skin that are more solid than you remember. Gym-toned or the product of a more active lifestyle than he used to have.

He is still as responsive as you remember. Your tongues dance, tease and tousle together. You crush his mouth to yours, sharing spit. You can't get enough of him. Your groins rub as he gyrates against you. He is making you crazy so that your hands grab his buttocks firmly to encourage him to continue doing what he is doing. He pulls off you enough to groan and bury his face into your neck. You feel the warm breath of his panting against you. You dare to slip a hand into his underwear so that you can cup the flesh of his firm arse.

He stills and pulls back to look down at you; spit-slicked parted lips, lustful eyes and pink cheeks.

He grins and emits something between a grunt and a laugh. You aren't sure what is going through his head but whatever it is, it is good. This isn't over yet. The guilt hasn't kicked in.

He sits upright on you. The movement rubs his arse on your dick and a flood of memories rushes through your brain of you and him, connected. You bite your lower lip to stop yourself groaning like a virginal teen. He hesitates for a second then takes off his t-shirt before helping you out of yours. His hands rush over your chest.

You want to pinch yourself to make sure this is actually happening.

"You've lost weight." He says. A single finger traces over your ribs.

"Stress." You say thickly as he teases the hairs of your treasure trail heading for your groin. "Your puny arms aren't so puny."

He smiles. "No they're not. I work out a bit."

You stop him before he starts working on your jeans, when the reflection of his ring glints in your eye. He doesn't notice that you have seen it. You clasp his hand in yours, covering it. He has scars all over his arms. Small, thready ones that are not visible on a hurried glance. You look at them and remember how they looked, open and bleeding.

"Don't stare at them." He says in embarrassment.

You kiss them then touch them with your tongue, rub them with your moustache and worry them with your lips. "They are part of you ." You say. _And you are perfect._

"I wish they weren't there sometimes." He whispers.

"To forget what happened?" You grip his hips.

"No." He leans over to whisper to you. "It would mean it never happened. And then maybe, I don't know, you and me-"

You pull him into a kiss because you don't want to hear his Shoulda Woulda Coulda. You can't change time. If only you could. This is where you are now.

You shift your positions, rolling him over so that he is under you and deepen the kiss. You settle between his legs encouraging him to part them to accommodate you. You feel the furriness of his legs from ankles to hips and the more pronounced scars of his legs. He is healed and he feels amazing. Every square inch of him.

"These." You touch the large scar that runs along the outer part of his left lower leg that was the entry point for the metal plate used to fix the compound fracture there. "Don't define you but they are part of who you are and you are incredible."

He smiles, wraps his legs around you then easily brings a foot up to rest its heel on your shoulder. It's good to know he is still flexible...

"I had physio for months and psychotherapy for a year on and off after what happened."

"Did it help?"

He nods. "Yeah. Loads. Look." He straightens his leg up to point at the ceiling and wiggles his toes before resting his foot back on your shoulder. "Apparently when you break a bone the point where it breaks heals stronger than before. So technically I am superman!"

You smile. "Who told you that?"

He looks away suddenly. Must have been his fiancé. The thought makes you sick with jealousy. Martin has replaced you as the subject of Stephen's affection. You want Stephen to forget him even if for a moment.

You tug at his shorts and he lifts his hips to allow you to take them and his pants off him. He brings his hands up to his face, covering his eyes momentarily when he is naked before you. Is he embarrassed about the scars? Is he feeling guilty? Is it something else all together?

You lean over him, cover his body with yours and he automatically circles his legs around you again. When you press your lips to his he peels his hands off his face and kisses you back. A whimper escapes his throat, and your tongue imitates what your hope your cock will soon. You are dying to bury yourself in him. Desperate for that connection.

You start a journey south. Everywhere you touch he responds with a purr, sigh or moan that shoots right down to your groin. His body comes off the bed tense with passion. He is rock hard by the time you get to his cock. It sits on his stomach, thick and proud; precum pooling near his bellybutton already.

He still fancies the pants off you.

You lick him and take him into your mouth, tasting him. You suck his dick, feeling it slide down your throat, filling you up. He squirms under you, unable to stay still.

He grips your hair and moans, "Brendan."

You cup his balls in response, massaging them at the same time. He has taken to body grooming. He is trimmed right down. Not waxed but 'neat'. He brings his legs up a little more and you know what he is silently urging you to do. Your finger runs back to his entrance.

His hole is shut tight as you graze over it. You rub against it while you continue sucking him off and he starts to lose control the way you remember. He claws at the sheets. His hips rhythmically rotate to up the pressure. You had forgotten how much of a pushy bottom he was, using sounds and actions to get his own way. He moans and pushes you off his dick before coaxing your face down so that your nose is stuffed into his balls and your lips meet his hole. You swallow a chuckle. You flick your tongue out wetting him, lapping at him until he lets out a groan. He is so hot, opening up for you under the pressure of your tongue. He spreads his legs wide and urges you on.

You unzip without taking your attention away from him and release your cock fisting it once it is free of its confines. Stephen helps you take the rest of your clothes off and everything hots up another notch.

You look down at him. He is dazed and spread-eagled under you while you jerk off. He reaches for your cock and strokes it expertly after spitting onto his hand to give it some glide. Your eyes fall closed to savour his actions. He is so good at working you up to a frenzy. How did you survive without this? Soon he makes no secret of his impatience. He scoots closer to you so that his arse is in your lap, virtually on your groin, pelvis tilted up to you. He holds your gaze while he rubs your cock. You thrust into his hand. When he looks at you pleadingly you know it is for you to fuck him.

You reach for your wallet in your jeans pocket to fetch a condom. Nothing.

You want to cry out of frustration.

You wasted the last ones on that twink you picked up a couple of days ago. The 'clone' you used to blunt the cancer diagnosis and the shock of seeing Stephen after all this time at_ Secondo's_ with someone else.

You take his hand off your cock. You feel desperate when you ask.

"Do you have a ..." You look down at your throbbing dick.

He shakes his head. At least he looks equally disappointed. He pushes a heavy sigh out of his lungs.

He has no supplies? Every sensible gay man going on holiday goes prepared. This means one of two things. Both are hard to stomach. Either Martin and he have fucked themselves out of stock in four days reflecting an active sex life or they don't use protection with each other suggesting a monogamous committed relationship. It's shit for you either way.

You collapse onto him and he wraps his arms around your waist and his legs around yours like a Venus fly trap. Only you are willing prey.

"Sucks." You say, using Paraic's jargon.

"Yeah." He caresses you with the heels of his feet and his hands on your back. The motion is so rhythmic that you feel your eyes go heavy and tired.

"Plenty of time for play." It slips out without a thought.

You have alluded to a future together. You stop breathing waiting for his reaction.

He grins broadly so you slide off him to lie by his side and face him. He intertwines his hands in yours. You pull him to you and lazily kiss him while you map his body, relearning him. The sexual becomes sensual, comforting and beautiful.

"I love you." He whispers while you suck on his neck lazily, clutching you. His eyes close under the weight of fatigue.

You are actually surprised to hear him say it although you shouldn't be. Stephen would never betray his fiance if it wasn't for love. There is nothing fluffly or blase in his attitude to relationships. He doesn't do one night stands or hook ups.

That's fine by you. A long term 'contract' with him suits you to the bone. You close your eyes too and pull him closer to you. You kiss his temple then say,

"I love you, too."

You sigh because really it is so easy to say. As sleep claims you, you think that you should have told him earlier.

What was the fuss all about?

XOXO

_**Six years ago..**_**.**

"Quick, Bren. The ambulance is coming. What do we do now?"

Pete's voice sounds distorted, muted, and distant. You stare down at the lifeless body of Warren's accomplice.

That's two men now. Dead by your hand.

The murder weapon is still in your palm. It shakes with the tremble of your body. Stephen's blood, picked up when you went to check on him, coats the gun reminding you why you did what you did. He has been harmed; his life, threatened.

You can't remember pulling the trigger just like you don't recall bludgeoning Danny Houston to death. Your mind dissociated. Like an instinct, you protected one of your most treasured possessions. You would do it again and again in a heartbeat as you would for your sister and your sons to keep them safe. Right or wrong, that is how you feel.

Anyone who fucks with these four people will see your wrath and vengeance.

That isn't to say you feel satisfaction afterwards. Rather, you feel sick to your stomach that you have ended another man's life. Not regret. Just queasiness.

"Bren, mate." Peter says anxiously. "We've got ten minutes."

Warren kicks into gear and runs behind the barn. He re-emerges with a cluster of soiled objects. A video camera dangles from his wrist and he holds black items of clothing in his hands.

He lays them carefully on the ground near the open car boot.

Stephen's bloodied uniform.

"Where did you find them?" You demand.

He stares at you. "I haven't got time to explain now."

You walk back to the car to check on Stephen. He hasn't moved from his foetal position so you fearfully feel for a pulse. It's there but faint compared to the thump of yours in your chest. You lift his hand. It is toneless and his wrist is misshapen and swollen. You take his watch off it delicately, feeling tears form in your eyes as you hear the crunch of broken bone grating on broken bone.

A voice speaks to you in your head. _He isn't going to make it and it's your fault. You dick_.

No. He has to make it. You stroke his temple, and push light brown hair off his forehead.

Warren pushes you aside and says,

"No time for that." He sidesteps in front of you, tucks his hands under Stephen's body and lifts him out of the boot before laying him onto the clothes on the ground.

"What the fuck!" You say angrily. You get down on your knees to check that he is still alive while Warren backs off.

"I am saving you from a life sentence here." He says firmly. "He'll be fine. The medics will take care of him."

He runs to John. "We need to act fast. We've got to get rid of John _and_ his car so we can't have your boyfriend in it, can we?"

Warren indicates for you to help him out then hooks his hand under the big man's armpits. "Give us a hand, will you?"

"Bren, Warren is right. We need to get out of here now. We are no use to Ste and we can't be here when the ambulance arrives." Peter is sounding frantic now.

Warren is smiling like a smug git. He thinks he has got you by the balls. It's not wise to underestimate you. You ain't just a pretty face.

Let the game begin.

You let him have the first move.

"The cops will trace the bullet lodged in his head to you. That's a lot of time behind bars." He says with a harsh expression.

You walk to him, playing along for now and take John's feet. You quickly and wordlessly help move the body and dump John into his own car boot.

You straighten out and face your archenemy.

Your move now.

"The thing is, Foxy, they won't trace the gun to me. It will disappear today. Even if it's found, it's not mine. If you tell them what I did and I go to jail, I'll tell them what you did. An eye for an eye. I may be a murderer but I'm betting John here is a lowlife piece of shit with a heart ten times darker than mine and a criminal record as long as my dick. I bet you the cops will be well rid. I'll look like a fucking hero for bringing him to justice. You, on the other hand, will look like scum for kidnapping and nearly killing an innocent father of two for a measly fifty grand."

He pales but then has a think. His smile is cold. "Brendan, you seem to forget that I have had front row seats both times you have decided to kill someone. One more death and you officially become a serial killer. Whether your victims have been good or bad doesn't matter. Murder is murder. Hope you enjoy being a punching bag because I have some friends on the inside that will pay you a visit from time to time as a hello from me to you."

"It's a shame I won't get to meet them then. But you'll get to catch up on old times when you get locked up. See, I figured the authorities might be interested in finally resolving the mysterious disappearances of your best friend, Sean, and your ex-fiancée, Louise." You have been keeping your knowledge of Warren's cold-blooded murders secret for some time knowing that one day they may come in handy. "Like you say, a murder is a murder."

You have wrong footed him. He is backed into a corner and you feel the power shift back to you. You are in control again and you are about to win this game.

You look over at Pete. With little time left, speed is of the essence.

"Peter, go back to Hollyoaks. Use some excuse to get Amy back from Mike's. Make sure you are with her when she finds out about Stephen."

You know your level of devastation about Stephen will only be matched by Peter's girlfriend.

"Okay." Pete hesitates and darts his eyes between you and Warren. "But what about you?"

"I'll be fine. I'll talk to you later."

He nods and reverses his wheelchair before whizzing around and making his way quickly to his car. A minute or so later you hear his car start up and tires screeching as he leaves.

You rummage through John's pockets, taking out his wallet and car keys. You toss the keys to Warren and pocket his wallet.

"Get rid of the car and the body." You tell Warren.

"No. Not my problem. I've got my own car round the front."

"Your jeep is mine now. Call it insurance. When you show me proof that you have destroyed the evidence then I'll return it. If you pull a fast one, then you'll find your car turning up somewhere with a tip off to the boys in blue with this gun," you show him the weapon you used to kill John, "this watch," you show him Stephen's bloodied watch "and this wallet in it."

You see his hand move to the trigger of his gun. He can't be serious. Trying to kill you would not be smart.

"Don't think about it." You say. "You have just allowed my best friend to leave. He will be witness to what happened here and believe me he will make me look very good and make you look very bad."

He looks at you, wide-eyed.

"Give me your car keys." You say just as the distant sound of sirens hits your ears. The ambulance is nearly here. Thank God.

Warren chucks his keys at you and doesn't protest further.

Game.

Set.

Match.

He jumps into his dead colleague's car and drives away quickly. The car's wheels push a cloud of dust into the air.

You take one more look at Stephen.

That voice, the one of guilt, speaks to you again.

_This is your fault. If he dies. If he lives. It doesn't matter. It is your fault._

You have no time to beat yourself up about it now. You run to Warren's car and drive off.

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 4)...**_

You wake up with a start. You are in darkness save for the light offered by the moon and stars through the partly open window of the hotel suite. It takes you a moment to realise where you are and the reason for waking up.

You quickly pick up your phone which shows a blocked number.

"Hello?" You whisper as you sit up and look over your shoulder to see Stephen lying. The last few hours weren't a cruel dream. He is here occupying an impressively large portion of the king-size bed with a sleeping position that would impress an acrobat. His arm is flung out and he breathes deeply through a slightly open mouth. He is unashamedly exposed, tranquil and relaxed. His skin is bronzed everywhere but where a pair of shorts may have been. His 'white bits'. Has he been on holiday recently with his bloke?

Your heart squeezes with jealousy but you push it aside.

You want to possess very last inch of him. Explore him. Rediscover what you lost.

And you will have time to now with him back in your life. You smile at the thought.

"_Mr. Brady?"_

"Yes." You whisper and make your way to the bathroom, careful not to make a sound and wake Stephen. You shut the door behind you.

"_This is Dr. Scott's secretary from St Vincent's Hospital. I'm sorry to disturb you out of normal working hours but I have been asked to contact you because we have an earlier appointment available in the medical oncology department."_

From joy to despair with one call.

You had forgotten you were sick. Stephen made you forget.

"Right."

"_Would you be available to attend tomorrow afternoon?"_

"Tomorrow?" So soon? You feel a wave of nausea.

You don't know if you are ready. This is all getting a little too real.

"Yes. I appreciate it is short notice but we have had a cancellation. You won't be starting your chemotherapy yet. But you will have a chance to discuss it in more detail and get your work up, ready for your first cycle."

She sing-song telephone voice makes it sound like a walk in the park. Your nausea peaks and you bring your hand to your mouth. You are going to vomit. You go to the toilet, kneel next to it and empty most of your stomach contents into it.

"_Mr. Brady?"_

"Yes." You wipe your mouth gingerly and stand up to stare at yourself in the mirror. You look a right state and this is before the cytotoxic drugs that promise such treats as hair loss, abdominal pains, risk of life-threatening infections, poor appetite, diarrhoea, mouth ulcers and more.

"_Are you alright?"_

You open the bathroom door to peer at Stephen to see if he has woken up. He is still softly snoring having moved to occupy the spot you vacated, his hands tucked comfortably under his head. He has a vague smile on his face. That's Stephen; exhausted by any sexual activity.

"Yes." You say, lying. "I'm fine."

You wonder what he is dreaming of. Fluff probably. He is full of it. Was at least. Six years ago. Things that made him immeasurably happy included holding hands on his insistence while dining out with Amy and Pete, sharing dessert at a restaurant because 'I can't eat the whole thing on me own, Bren', hanging out with the kids, going to the cinema and pandering to his obsession of action movies, having sex with him when he least expected it like _Chez Chez_ during business hours or mile high clubbing it on a flyover to Dublin.

You remember all that fluff like it was yesterday. At first you found it pointless but you went along with it. After a while you would come up with your own fluff because there was something addictive about seeing how happy it made him and he id have amazingly skillful ways to show you thanks...

Your face clouds over, thinking.

If that is what he is expecting from you now, you can't give it to him, not in the state you are in. There is no room for fluff in your life and there won't be for some time; not once you are in the middle of chemo. You haven't told him that yet. You haven't dropped the bombshell. You haven't really discussed any logistics of your coming together; children, jobs, geography, cancer.

_Oh yeah. Forgot to mention. I've got cancer. Now how about that happy ever after except it won't be happy and it will be until I die after weeks or months of you nursing me in poor health._

"Can I bring my sister with me?" You ask the secretary.

"_Of course. It is always good to have loved ones with you during these moments in life."_

"Yeah." You say.

"_So that's three fifteen in the oncology unit tomorrow. If you make your way to reception and they will have your details."_

"Thanks."

_"Goodbye Mr. Brady."_

You end the call and go back into the room. For the first time since waking up you realise that you are butt naked. You slowly dress up again while looking over at Stephen.

You have misrepresented yourself to him. You have sold him the Brendan of six years ago; strong, healthy, tough, daring and dangerous. He doesn't know that what he is getting is a weakened shell, cracked by progressive disease.

What you are doing to him is not fair, is it? You want him to leave that healthy (as far as you know) Scotsman with his well paid job, apparently well-adjusted life, Chippendale body and model looks to be with you.

Your selfishness knows no bounds.

When you lean over him to pick up your wallet he stirs. His voice is full of sleep when he mumbles,

"Brendan?"

"Yeah." You say. You kneel n the floor next to him.

He keeps his eyes closed, sleep just about winning over wakefulness. You kiss his cheek.

"Look, I've got to go, yeah." You whisper as you feel wetness fall from your eyes. Then you lie. "I got to pick up the little one from practice but I'll talk to you tomorrow."

He grins slowly and you wonder whether he is actually hearing you. "Okay. Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Bye." You say.

You are not going to let him ruin his life for you. You shouldn't have come. You shouldn't have given yourself or him hope that something could happen. Once again you were too weak to stay away.

You stand up and take out the well thumbed photo of him that you have kept in your wallet for years; the one Niks found and commented on. Round the back you write,

_I am sorry, Stephen._

You are about to put it down next to him when you pause and add,

_6 years ago. My fault, My guilt. For £50,000_

Then you lay it down next to him.

There.

That's the way to end things for good.


	24. The Reunion Martin 5

_**Hi Folks,**_

**_Thank you for all the comments. I am so very touched by them especially given that this fanfic has so little light relief. It is pretty much chapter after chapter of bad news and angst, isn't it?_**

**_Oh well, here's more!_**

**__**Chips x**__**

**xoxo**

_Extract from Stephen Hay's Patient File..._

Emergency department Report for Mr Stephen Hay- Chester Police Department

Patient: Stephen Hay

Date of Birth: Unknown (Age 20 years according to witness)

Address: 28 Fern Street, Hollyoaks

Next of Kin: Amy Barnes (Friend)

Statement of events by Dr. Chris Konaides

The following is my statement of event and is written to the best of my recollection and with review of the patient in question's notes. I was the registrar on call on the night that Mr Hay was admitted to the emergency department via ambulance with multiple traumas, unconscious with a probable history of abduction.

On admission, he was unconscious. Paramedics inserted a _Guedel_ airway and he was maintaining saturations of 95% on air but with a raised respiratory rate. His cervical spine was secured. He had marked contusions to his left chest wall and suspected rib fractures on the same side. He was haemodynamically stable following fluid resuscitation by paramedics. He was only responding to pain at this stage but his pupils were equal and reactive to light.

He was found to have a bleeding laceration on back of head- 6 cm length but no clinically evident base of skull fracture. His arms had multiple superficial lacerations. He had a fracture of the left wrist and bruises over his abdomen of unknown cause. On log rolling, his spine appeared intact. A rectal examination was not performed as blood was seen around the anus raising the possibility of rape. Forensic pathologists were called to collect samples in evidence. He had tibial and fibular fractures of his right leg and an ankle fracture on the left.

He was intubated in the emergency department to secure an airway. We ran a battery of blood tests including a toxicology screen. An initial head CT was normal but a repeat revealed a subdural haematoma requiring surgical evacuation under the neurosurgeons. X-rays also confirmed rib, wrist, leg and ankle fractures. Once stabilised the patient was taken to an orthopaedic theatre for internal fixation of his leg fracture before going to the intensive care unit.

Of note, whilst in the emergency department, I took a brief history from a man in his early to mid thirties with a moustache demanding to speak to whoever was dealing with My Hay. His relationship to the patient was unclear but he gave details of a next of kin as well as the patient's details. He left the emergency department soon afterwards so no further history could be obtained.

Summary of Diagnoses:

1) Concussion with scalp laceration- sutured.

2) Subdural haemorrhage and surgical evacuation

3) Fractured left wrist (distal radius) - plaster of Paris.

4) Fractured left lower leg (Tibia and fibula) - for internal fixation.

5) Fractured malleolus right leg- for plaster of Paris.

6) Fractured left ribs (sixth and seventh) - analgesia and chest physiotherapy.

7) Rectal mucosal damage and anal laceration- for STI screening as probable unprotected violation. Forensics review completed.

8) Laceration to chest and arms- cleaned and dressings administered.

XOXO

You are in your office at home looking at the sheet of paper using your non-dominant hand. The muted sounds of the party going on in your house filter down the corridor and through the heavy wooden door. You can hear Ste giggling away, probably surrounded by his mates.

All of a sudden the door swings open and you turn around.

"Mate, are you coming to join the party or what?" Peter says as he wheels in, uninvited.

You hide the hospital statement you were reading behind your back and say, "Yeah, sure. In a minute."

"What are you doing?" He asks, craning his head round to see what is in your hand.

"Oh." You wave the document at him. "This? Work. Had to do something before it slipped my mind."

"How did you get that fracture?" He asks, eyeing up the splint encasing your right hand.

"Fall."

He looks at you knowingly. "It's not called a boxer's fracture for nothing." He studies you closely. "Drunken night brawl?"

You shrug.

"You alright, mate? You're looking, I don't know. On edge." He says.

"Yeah. Fine. Just tired. Bloody work trips."

"Yeah?" He comes further into the room. "How was Dublin?"

It is a weighted question. There are reasons for him to wonder. His former best friend lives there and he shared your concerns over Ste returning back to the city that he had grown fond of during his relationship with Brendan.

"We haven't had a chance to catch up since you guys got back, have we?" He says.

"It was predictably shit." You summarise.

He lifts an eyebrow so you expand.

"Ste and I fell out." You perch on the edge of your desk. "We bumped into Brendan at a restaurant in the centre and he freaked out."

His eyes widen. "What?"

"It was like he was getting flashbacks again." You say.

"What happened?" Pete says.

You don't know how to reply to that. You are hardly going to tell him about Ste's Freudian slip during sex.

"Seeing Brendan and being in Dublin stirred up memories for him, I guess."

You rub your head, trying to clear it of the headache you have had since leaving Dublin.

"What kind of memories?" Pete asks.

"He thought he still loved Brendan."

"But everything is okay between you guys, right?" He stares at your engagement ring. "You guys are solid."

"Yes. 'Course."

XOXO

**_Six days ago (Dublin)..._**

You are standing outside _VIBE._ Ste is in front of you, his eyes bloodshot, dressed in that suit that you love him in and holding a wilted bouquet of flowers. It is an odd gift. Not something you would expect from him. An afterthought?

Nicole and Toby look on, reminders of your alcohol-fuelled kiss moments ago. You wish they would disappear. The kiss meant nothing. It was stupid. Maybe you did it because Toby was there when Ste wasn't and showed you affection when you were sure Ste didn't care.

You wish you could erase your mistake.

Not that you dwell on it at this moment with the man you love standing before you. You crush him to you. Smelling his scent and wrapping your arms around him.

Ste came and you have no intention of letting him go any time soon.

You should have never doubted him.

"I'm sorry." You whisper. For the kiss. For not believing in him.

Ste gives you a confused look. "It's me who should say sorry. I was living in the past and I dragged you there with me. I should have known that what I needed was right here all along."

He reaches into his pocket and extracts a gold band. "So this time, I'll do the proposing. Martin McCallister. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

There is sadness in his eyes that you cannot understand. You know him like the back of your hand. He has been crying. Something is on his mind. You look around and notice that Nicole and Toby have gone. It is just you and him so you can speak freely.

You hold his hands in yours. "Is that what you really want? To be with me?"

He nods. "More than anything."

"Then why are you so upset?" You ask.

You touch a finger to his face prompting him to do the same. He registers the tears there with surprise as if he hadn't realised he was crying.

"Do we have to talk about it now?" He whispers at you. Why? What the fuck has happened?

Your heart leaps with concern. "Yes. Marriage proposals are supposed to be happy occasions. Maybe a few tears of joy." You give him a small smile as you gently wipe his cheeks with your thumbs. "Not these. These are tears of sorrow."

He sniffs. "Sorry."

You form a theory that has your heart thudding painfully in your chest. "Did you see him again?"

Brendan.

"Yes." He clears his throat. "I, uh, I had supper at his apartment with him and his children. His son invited me."

You nod but you already feel your bond to Ste weaken. Did they reconnect and find common ground again? Build broken bridges?

"We... talked. A little."

"About?"

"About where he is now in his life. About the bistro. About you. I mainly spoke to his sons."

"Is he with anyone?"

"No."

"And?"

"I went home at the end of the night." He shuts his eyes. "He kissed me."

There's your bond disintegrating further.

"He kissed you." You say slowly.

His watery eyes connect with yours. "I kissed him back. I don't know why."

"Because you like him."

"No! I broke it off. I walked away." He says emphatically. "I think its memories, you know. I remembered how he was."

He chews on his lips as if deciding whether to tell you more.

"He came to see me a few hours ago."

That throws you off.

"At the hotel?"

Ste nods.

What is Brendan playing at? Why was he looking for Ste, kissing him? What the fuck?

"Why?" You ask. Was he trying to get back with Ste; steal him from under your nose?

"He isn't the man I thought he was. He made that clear tonight."

"Did he do something to you?"

His cheeks pink up under the street lights. He buries his face into your chest. You don't get his reaction but you know about Brendan and the violence at the beginning of their relationship. Amy told you. Even Ste has admitted it. Your hands ball into fists.

"Ste? Did he touch you?"

"Um... No." He mumbles into your chest after some time then looks up at you. He inhales and exhales slowly. "He did me a favour, I guess. He told me the truth about what happened."

Huh?

He suddenly and unexpectedly crumbles into a fit of crying the like you have never seen from him. Ever. It is as if his soul is being ripped to shreds. You pull him close, gripping him as you feel his shudders; his body expressing emotional pain.

"It was his fault, Marty."

You barely understand what he is saying through his gasps and tears.

"What was?"

"This!" He shouts and pushes you away to grip the back of his head, then his previously broken wrist before beating a closed fist into his chest. "What happened to me!"

"I don't understand-"

"He told me!" He is shaking with anger and hurt. "No! He didn't even have the decency to do that! He wrote it down for me to find when I-"

He stops abruptly closing his hand over his mouth; physically preventing himself from saying another word.

"When you what?"

He shakes his head and wipes his tears dry on his sleeve. He calms down and then reaches into his trouser pocket.

He passes you a picture of himself. The Ste staring at you from the well-thumbed tatty photo is someone you have never met; with completely unblemished skin revealed in the tee-shirt and shorts he is wearing. He is young, too. You would be surprised if he was a day older than twenty in it. The innocence radiating from him is almost difficult to swallow given that you know what happens to him only a few short years later.

"Who took this?" You ask.

"Ames but she gave it to Bren years ago." He turns it around in your hand and points at the writing on the back.

_I am sorry, Stephen._

_6 years ago. My fault. My guilt. For £50,000_

"Brendan wrote this?" You ask.

"Yes." He whispers.

Your mind thinks fast. You pool everything you know together.

"Let me get this straight." You say to Ste slowly as you feel rage bubbling up. "Your kidnapping had to do with Brendan somehow. The fifty thousand pounds was what, ransom money? Money that he owed? Money he stole?"

Your hands ball into fists. You are crushing Ste's picture in your hand without realising. Fifty thousand measly pounds was the price Brendan had put on Ste's life. You want to confront him. Tell him to stay the fuck away from Ste and stop ruining his life and to get him to tell you the truth about exactly what happened so that Ste can finally get some closure.

£50,000.

That amount reminds you of another pot of cash...

xo

**_Five years ago..._**

"Bit weird that, innit?" Ste says to you when the inheritance lawyer comes knocking. "Out of the blue. 50K."

"Yeah."

"What do you think I should do?"

"It all checks out and it's not a bad lump sum of money to have in your back pocket for a rainy day."

"Yeah. I suppose."

xo

**_Present day (six days ago)..._**

You have to speak with Peter when you get back to Hollyoaks. He was the one that helped with mediation when it came to Ste receiving his inheritance money. There is a chance he might know of a link between that money and the kidnapping?

"Martin." Ste grabs your face in his hands to get your attention. You are both still outside the club in Dublin.

"Yeah." Your drunkenness is lifting slowly. At least now you are coherent.

"I was an idiot for even thinking I still had feelings for Brendan." Ste shuffles up closer to you so that nothing separates you. "I didn't. I don't. I love _you_ with all my heart."

He grins at you and it is sincere so you find yourself grinning back.

He grips your left hand and places your ring at the tip of your left finger.

"So what do you say?" He asks looking at you expectantly. "Will you make an honest man of me?"

"I kissed Toby." You say.

Fucking hell. What did you say that for? Pure self-sabotage. Sometimes you hate that you cannot lie.

You wait for Ste to storm off. He is a relationship purist. He will not understand why you kissed you ex. You don't get why except that you were angry, upset and shit-faced.

"Do you love him?" He asks. His tears have dried up. There is a flicker of something in his eyes that is gone as quickly as it appears.

"No. I love you." You say.

Is he going to forgive you?

"Then that is all that matters. Anything else is just noise. As long as we love each other. As long as we are true to each other from now on."

There is a smile that forms on his lips. His deep blue eyes open up to you. There is the beginning of that sparkle he gets when he is giddy with joy. He lifts an eyebrow at you as he pushes the ring onto your fourth finger without waiting for your reply.

Cheeky.

"You do know that you are supposed to wait until the person says yes first?" You feel the twitch of a smile on your lips.

He gives you a coy look. "But I always get my way especially when I..."

He leans up and gives you a kiss that does a good job of erasing a lot of angst and pain. He curls his fingers round the back of your head and deepens it. You forget, in an instant, how close you came to drawing a line under this five year journey together. He sighs as he kisses his way from your mouth down the angle of your jaw to your neck.

He sucks at the sensitive skin there just the way you like it and you swallow a groan then say,

"Bribery doesn't work on me, Ste." You give him more room to tongue you.

He smiles then goes for your lips again.

"No?" He purrs when you push him away to come up for air.

"No." You mumble.

"But I think it has because the ring is still on your finger."

You smile because he is right.

You pull away to look down at your accessorised finger. There your ring is; back where it belongs. You thumb it and grin at him, slyly.

"Sneaky. Mr McCallister-Hay. Very sneaky."

"Is that a 'yes' then?" He chews on his lower lip, nervously.

You pull him to you by his hips.

"How could it ever be a 'no'?" You kiss his forehead.

xo

You can't sleep only this time it isn't because you are in a strange bed or because you and Ste are at loggerheads.

The two of you are back on track.

He is by your side, asleep, arm flung across your chest and snoring softly. His warm firm body is flushed with colour and vitality. His cheeks are red from your stubble, lips swollen from your kisses, arsehole full of your cum; the aftermath of your reconciliation.

You should feel spent but Brendan is on your mind. Swirling around.

He kissed Ste and then he came looking for him again. He was trying to reconnect with your fiancé. But then why did he confess the truth of his involvement in Ste's abduction? He must have known that would push him away.

You get out of bed. It is an unusually tropical night; the kind where thin bed sheets feel too heavy on the skin. You throw on a t-shirt and jeans and slip into a pair of flip-flops then look over at Ste. He is still fast asleep so you pick up his phone.

You run through his messages. There are none from Brendan but two sent from his son, Declan.

One was sent two days ago.

_10.17 am. From Declan Brady_:

_Great to see you yesterday. Lasagne was killer. Sorry I didn't give you that lift back to the hotel but had to leave while you were sleeping. I'm sure dad sorted you out. Hope to catch up with you soon. Don't be a stranger, stranger. _

_Dec._

Ste slept at Brendan's and was alone with him for some time. He didn't say but his reply is reassuring.

_10.35 am. To Declan Brady:_

_I got a taxi back to the hotel in the end. It was good to catch up with you and Paraic. I can't believe how grown up you are (and you've ditched the Bieber haircut!) Good luck with the rest of your vet course and all the best in the future,_

_Ste._

Good. He didn't even mention their father. You scroll down to the next message from Declan. It was only sent a few hours ago. It must have been while you were still at _VIBE_. Ste hasn't replied back to it.

_22.05 pm. From Declan Brady:_

_Ste, I don't want to pester you. I know how difficult dad can be and I have figured out that he probably did something terrible six years ago that has made you really angry with him. I am not going to justify his actions, since I don't even know what they are, but I have grown to understand the way his brain works and, in the world of Brendan Brady, dad probably thought he was doing the right thing. _

_I really hope you guys make peace with each other. My dad needs a special friend right now._

_Number 4. The Oaks. Clyde Road. Dublin. Nr. Herbert Park._

_Deccy_

You key the address into your phone and put Ste's phone where you found it.

You slip out of the hotel room after a quick glance at your better half. You'll be back in time for your flight in the late morning but you have some last minute business to attend to.

XOXO

**_Present Day..._**

"Pete. Remember the opening of _PECKISH!_?"

"What about it?"

"The next day you told me that the reason Brendan left Ste wasn't because he was tired of their relationship."

Pete looks nervous at the subject matter. "Mate, why are we talking about this now?"

"You told me the real reason for Brendan dumping Ste was that he wanted to protect him from his enemies and felt responsible for the abduction. Remember."

He wipes his brow and says, "It's your bloke's birthday party. Can we discuss this some other time? You have to get the cake out soon."

"No." You say firmly. "See I should have pushed further but when you assured me that the kidnapping wasn't Brendan's fault I let it drop. I trusted you."

He looks to the floor.

"So what is the truth?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you used to be best friends and now you don't talk at all. By all accounts the shift coincided with Ste's abduction."

"Look, there were many reasons why Bren and I fell out, Marty. Don't presume to-"

You slam you hand left, unbroken hand on the desk to shut him up. You aren't an aggressive guy but there has been a lot of shit recently that has wound you up.

"Don't patronise me, Peter! I know you are hiding something and I want some answers. I know you lied to me because I know that Brendan was involved in the kidnapping. That is why he felt guilty. What I want to know is what he did."

"Brendan told you he was involved?"

"As good as."

You show him the hospital statement you were looking at when he came into the office.

He reads it quickly and you ask,

"The guy the doctor refers to at the end is Brendan, isn't it? What was he doing at the hospital within hours of Ste's admission? How did he know Ste was admitted that soon?"

"Come on, Marty." He says.

"Jesus, Pete." You say angrily as you walk up to him determinedly. "I am going to marry a man whose life has been in limbo because six years ago something happened to him that he doesn't understand. Can't begin to understand. He has had to try so hard to move on from something that appeared so senseless. If you have been withholding information that could have helped Ste see sense in what happened so that he could properly come to terms with it, so help me, Pete..."

You barely hear him he is so quiet. "You can't ever repeat what I am about to tell you. Not to Ste or Amy."

You sit back into your chair because you have a feeling that what you are about to hear won't be easy to swallow.

He tells you the story of a man called Warren Fox, Brendan's archenemy. How this man took advantage of Ste's and Brendan's relationship to take back money that he thought Brendan stole from him. How Ste was kidnapped and taken to a barn where he stayed for two days while Brendan frantically tried to raise capital. How the volume of money was hard to come by within the short timescale set by Warren. How eventually Peter and Brendan followed him out of town and to a barn where they discovered Ste in the state that you know he was found by paramedics.

Peter tells you how there was a second man involved. A man that Brendan killed for the injuries inflicted on Ste, out of love and a unilateral quest for revenge. Pete tells you that he became a _de_ _facto_ accomplice by staying loyal to his friend and keeping quiet about his crime.

xo

"We reckon Warren fled to the States to avoid Brendan and criminal justice. He sold his shares of the club to a silent partner within weeks. I think the police investigated him but came to a dead end.

"I didn't hear from Bren for two weeks. Ste was no longer in a critical condition at this point. When I finally spoke to him and mentioned his name, Bren went ballistic. Said he didn't care anymore and didn't want to know. I couldn't believe how heartless he was. He had seen the state Ste was in. It was horrific.

"He told me he was going back to Dublin and I told him that he was being a twat for leaving his boyfriend. That is when he told me why.

"He asked that I do him one last favour before he left. He had managed to get the £50,000 total that Warren had demanded even after he didn't need to. He said that although it in no way compensated for what Ste had suffered he wanted Ste to have it.

"He told me that he didn't expect me to understand his actions just to execute his wishes. There is no dead aunt but you knew that, didn't you? Brendan gave Ste that money."

xo

It was as you suspected but there was a further question that needed answers; one that would define how much blame lay at Brendan's feet.

"Did Brendan provoke Warren by stealing his 50K?" You ask and hold your breath waiting for a reply.

"He told me that Ste was working like a dog all the time, just about making ends meet. He wanted to help him."

"Did he take the 50K?" You repeat.

Peter looks at you and nods. "Why do you think I don't speak to him anymore?"

XOXO

**_Six days ago..._**

The taxi finds the converted low-rise building that Brendan's apartment is situated in easily. It is in a very affluent looking part of town.

Your timing could be better. It is 2 am. Not acceptable for a 'school night' but needs must.

When you ring the bell marked _BRADY_ it takes a few minutes for a response.

"It's Martin." You say. "Ste Hay's fiancé."

A long pause follows, filled by barely audible breathing then a grunt and a buzzing sound that signifies the main gate unlocking to let you in.

"Lift to the top." Brendan says over the intercom as you close the gate behind you. His tone makes you wonder whether he was expecting you.

When you get to his landing his apartment door is already open.

You walk through it and straight into an open plan space that is so slick and avant-garde that it makes the enviable house you share with Ste in Chester look like a rundown cottage.

"Hello."

You snap your head round to see Brendan perched at a bar in the living area on a stool. His is holding a whiskey glass in his hand that he raises up to you as you approach him. He drops a black cloth that he was holding in his hand onto the floor.

"Whiskey?" He offers.

You shake your head and stay standing once you get to him. You get the impression that he hasn't been to bed yet.

"Please sit."

"I prefer to stand." You say tightly.

"Suit yourself." He gives you a slow grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "You know, I wondered whether the two of us would get a chance to kick back and have a chat."

"I am not here to compare notes about Ste."

"No? Pity. There is so much to say about him, don't you think?" His eyes are heavy. His words are slightly slurred. You are not the only one buzzing on alcohol. "Nice things. Just nice things to say."

"_Es lindo_." You say, recalling how Ste looked in his sleep before you left him a few minutes ago.

"Excuse me?"

"He's cute."

He smiles and this time it is annoyingly genuine. "Yes."

You stare at him.

"You know what, I will take that whiskey." You take the stool next to him and watch him pour you a healthy shot of poison.

You take a sip.

There is something about this man that you missed when you bumped into him at the Italian restaurant on your first day in Dublin and that everybody failed to convey to you when they talked about him.

Brendan has presence. He commands attention simply by being. There is something fascinating about him even when he is virtually still as he is now. He is handsome. Sure in his actions. You see what Ste was drawn to.

You drink together in silence. A sip off. Your eyes locked with one another's. Once you are done you look around you. Your eyes settle on framed pictures on the wall in front of you; portraits of people he knows. You identify Nicole and Brendan's sister. You also recognise Paddy, the guy from the club and Declan, Brendan's son. You assume the other kid is his younger son. And there is Pete. He is there despite their estrangement but Ste isn't.

"I take it this isn't a social call." He says.

"No."

"Stephen all tucked up in bed?"

You bristle at that reference. Only you get to have that visual.

"Why don't we skip the pregnant pause and get down to business. I hear one of us has a plane to catch." He cocks his head to one side and lifts an eyebrow at you.

You lean close to him. "I want to know what you are playing at."

He leans in too so that your foreheads are practically touching. "You are going to need to be more specific, buddy."

"Why did you kiss Ste?"

He goes stock still for a moment and generates a little distance between you again. "He told you."

"Yes."

"What else did he spill?"

"That you went to see him at our hotel room earlier tonight."

"Good old, Stephen. Can't keep a secret." There is no remorse. No regret. No apology. "Did he tell you what happened?"

No, Ste hasn't told you the specifics but you know how it ended, with Brendan leaving him devastated after giving him that scribed photo.

"This." He mimics a massive explosion by unclasping a fist and matching it up with a sound. "Snap. Crackle. Pop."

You can imagine how heated things must have got when Brendan revealed he was to blame for everything.

He pours himself another drink and downs the whole lot. You decline his silent offer of another shot. You need to keep your wits about you.

"Do you want him back?" You say.

It takes a moment before he replies, "No."

"I could understand if you did. He's special."

"I don't." He insists slowly.

"That's good then because tonight he re-proposed to me." You lean on the bar and turn to look at him. You are sticking the knife in. You want him to bleed.

"Re-proposed? How does that work exactly? Should I congratulate you twice?"

"I don't need your congratulations."

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other. You have him, right? Back in your arms. He hates me. He loves you. To the victor go the spoils. No need to thank me."

That enrages you. You get on your feet.

"Why would I ever need to thank you for Ste?"

"Because I showed him that you should be his first pick." He says and gives you a smile so smug that your fist automatically flies out to connect with his jaw.

The crack of bone in your hand and the pain causes you to wince but you are too fired up with adrenaline to dwell on it. Besides, you have managed to throw Brendan clean off his stool so that he is in a heap on the floor, shaking his head to clear it and touching a split lip.

He looks up at you in shock. You recognise the black cloth that he dropped when you came in as Ste's _Chez Chez_ t-shirt that he parcelled of five long years. What the hell was he holding it for?

You sneer at him. "I don't need your help to show Ste that I am better than you are. I don't beat my boyfriend. I care for him and I tell him. I show him. I do stuff for him because I want to. I don't care what the world thinks. I am willing to declare that I love him to anyone who will listen because I am not embarrassed by him or by what we have. I didn't need you to keep him."

Your accent has thickened with anger.

"That's what you think, Braveheart." He mumbles as he slowly gets to his feet.

"You nearly killed him, you smug arsehole!" You clutch him by his collar with a tight fist using your uninjured left hand. You are taller than him by three or so inches and broader. "If it wasn't for you what happened to him wouldn't have happened! I don't know how you sleep at night. You are a vile creature, Brendan! You are marked by Ste's blood!"

You bend to pick up Ste's old bloodied t-shirt.

"This is your doing!" You throw it at him. It clings to his t-shirt.

He takes it with both hands and surprises you with the care he takes with it; folding it carefully before resting it on his chest. When he looks at you his eyes are sombre but determined.

"You are right." He says eventually. "I went to see Stephen tonight because I wanted to try it on with him. I remember your fiancé, you know, every part of him. After seeing him in _Secondo's _I wanted him back but he didn't want to know. He told me how much he loves you." He sways slightly on his feet and you wonder whether it is fatigue or alcohol. He sits down on a stool again and props himself up on the bar. "He told me to piss off out of his life. That is why I left him that message. I was wrathful. I wanted to hurt him as much as it hurt me to know that he didn't want me and I couldn't have him."

You are taken aback by his candour.

"So you can drop the Neanderthal act. There is nothing I can offer Stephen that you can't." He touches his swollen, bleeding lip. "And there is plenty you can give him that I never could. There is no competition. You are the outright winner."

You take a moment to assimilate what he is saying. The throb in your right hand is increasing now that the rush of adrenaline is fading.

You stare at the injury you have inflicted on his face.

"Sorry about the lip."

"It'll heal. I have a date with a stranger tomorrow at three, though. That may take some explaining."

You nod. He has moved on already. You are in no doubt that someone like Brendan will be absolutely fine.

"Okay. I'm going to go."

"Sure."

You make your way towards the door and out of his life.

XOXO

**_Present_****_Day..._**

"Come on, mate." Pete says. "Before Ste and Ames send out a search party."

"Ste deserves to know the whole truth." You say.

"No he doesn't." Pete shakes his head. "What's the point? How is knowing that Bren made a big mistake that nearly cost Ste his life going to make Ste feel any better. It will just drag him back to how he was. Remember? He was a mess, mate, and he has worked really hard to get to where he is now. If you tell him that the money he used to help set up _PECKISH!_ came from Bren he will have a constant daily reminder that his workplace was built on blood money. His blood."

You think about what Pete says. Maybe he is right. Ste has moved on from Brendan. He has proved that to you by actively choosing you over him. Maybe that is enough and a chapter should be closed on his past; all its memories padlocked away and buried forever. It sits uneasily with you, though. It goes against your better judgement as a psychotherapist. Repression is never seen as an optimal way of coping with traumatic event.

Thankfully, for now you haven't got a chance to think on it further as Lucas runs into your office.

"Marty, can you tell Leah that-" He grinds to a halt when he detects the tension between you and Pete. His face has the drawing of a dinosaur on one cheek and a dragon spitting fire on the other.

"What are you guys both doing in here?" He says sceptically looking between the two of you; his 'step parents'.

Pete grins at him. "Why have you got face paint on?"

A change of subject. Nice.

"Yeah." You say with a matching smile. "I am pretty sure that when your mum said she was going to get a face painter for today, your exact words were 'No thanks mum, I'm nine years old now. I'm too grown up'!" You imitate the boy's voice.

Lucas quickly rubs one of his cheeks, smearing the dragon. "Oh yeah. True. Um, but this is Liam's fault. He dared me!"

"You're blaming your little brother?" Pete says in amusement. Liam is his son with Amy and Lucas's half-brother who recently turned three. "Who can barely speak?"

"I think the dinosaur looks cool." You say to Ste's boy.

Lucas tries to hide his grin in reaction to your compliment. Over the last few months the kid has been acting like he is too cool for just about everything. "It's lame but whatever. Dad's got one too."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

He nods. "He has a two on one cheek and a seven on the other. Come check it out." He grabs your hand and starts dragging you out of the room. "You coming, Pete?"

"Yeah. It's nearly time to sing happy birthday, right?"

Lucas nods.

The three of you make your way to the living room whose double doors that lead to the garden are flung open to allow the party to spill out into the garden.

The surprise party wasn't much of a surprise in the end. Ste's suspicions were confirmed soon after your return to Chester when he caught you and Ames during a conversation where you were putting finishing touches on your plans on how to celebrate his twenty-seventh party. He binned your joint idea of a sophisticated adult only night out in favour of an inclusive party that the kids could also enjoy.

Since it was his special day he got what he wanted. That is why your house is teaming with children from Lucas's and Leah's school as well as friends of you and Ste's enjoying parallel parties. The children are outside taking advantage of the bouncy castle, balloon toy-making clown and face painter you hired while the adults are in the living room enjoying a Spanish themed fiesta complete with _calimocho_ and _sangria_ punch bowls and tapas, a nod to your mixed parentage.

Everyone seems to be having fun, especially the birthday boy, who is holding a glass of _sangria_ in the far corner of the living room. The drink spills as he animatedly chats away using broad hand gestures and snorting a laugh here and there.

Right now he and Amy are shamelessly flirting with his former boss and friend, Chef Pierre, competing for his attention by showing him dance moves that probably look better in their heads than in reality. Pierre raises his eyebrows in bemusement, echoing you and Pete's expressions.

They both look tipsy. Ste looks adorable with his painted face. Amy has one too; a delicate rose that is draped across one side of her face from forehead to chin. They haven't noticed you yet. They are too busy busting moves that they will blush about later.

It is strange to see Ste drunk and a little out of control. He is always so together. You wonder what has possessed him to let go today; is this avoidance or just about relaxing and fun.

"Can I have some of the juice dad is having?" Lucas asks.

"No!" You and Pete say together.

Lucas pouts, reminding you of his father. "It has alcohol in it, doesn't it?"

"What?" You say as if you don't know what he means.

"No." Pete denies.

"So why are mum and dad acting so embarrassing?"

"They are having fun." Pete tells him cagily.

"Yeah." You agree. "Why don't you join your friends outside and have fun too?"

"Okay but can you tell Leah that she has to let me and my friends go on the castle too. She's not listening to me."

"Okay." Pete says.

"Give us a second though, yeah? We have to say something to your dad first."

Pete looks at you worriedly.

He nods and scampers off to join his friends.

"No, we can't." Pete says to you once the kid's out of earshot. "I thought you'd agreed not to tell Ste anything."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to tell him. Not today anyway. I have to think about it." You say as you watch Ste giggling with Amy. "I don't want to fuck up his birthday."

Pete nods and looks at Ste too. "He's drunk. He never gets drunk."

"Ames is drunk, too." You reply but it is telling that you aren't the only one to notice Ste's atypical behaviour. He likes to be in control so normally his barely consumes alcohol.

"I think your wife fancies chef." You say to Pete. The teasing is an olive branch.

"I think your fiancé likes him too." Pete retorts with a smile. "Look, maybe we should-"

He looks over at them dancing away in front of Pierre.

"Yeah." You say, reading his mind. _Prise the booze from their sticky fingers before they totally embarrass themselves._

You approach them and they both throw you beaming smiles when they see you.

"Hey, darling!" Amy slurs as she leans down to give Pete a kiss.

"Marty!" Ste squeals, flinging his arms around you and kissing your jaw line. "This party is amazing, like, A-May-Zing! Have you tried the _calamari_ yet?"

He holds his hands in yours and pushes himself into you starting a slow dance.

"No." You match his sway.

"It's delicious even though I say so myself. You should try it now."

"Yeah, you should." Amy echoes happily, pushing into your personal space.

"Um, 'scuse me Ames, I am having a moment with me fiancé." Ste says to his best friend. "So butt out, yeah."

You smile every time he calls you that out loud. Fiancé.

"Sorry!" She says with no remorse before turning to her husband to shimmy for him.

Ste rests his head against your chest. You grin then suddenly twirl him around twice. It elicits a whoop and a round of applause from your friends.

"Don't." He whispers into your torso when you settle him down. "That makes me feel dizzy."

His eyes look glazed in his flushed painted face so you say in amusement. "Yeah? That's because you drank too much."

"I haven't." He pouts.

You place your lips on his because he is delusional yet earnest; unbearably cute.

"Okay, George Best." You smile when he frowns at you.

"Just wanted to let loose for once." He mumbles with a lazy smile. "Where are the kids?"

"Outside. Having fun. Pete's going to check on them in a sec."

"Good. You having fun?"

"Yeah. Totally." You say but your mind automatically goes to your conversation with Pete moments ago.

He kisses your shirt over your heart then looks up at you. "Thanks. For everything."

You give him a wink as you run your hands over his back. "No problem."

"You know I've been thinking, yeah..." He says.

"Hurt much?" You quip.

"Ha. Not funny. I've been thinking that we should just do it, you know. Get married. Set a date soon and go for it."

"What's the rush?" Weddings take so much preparation.

"What's the point in waiting? We don't need something like what Ames and Pete had. I don't need the perfect white dress!"

"I don't know how Amy thought she could get away with it." You mumble and grin. "She had her kids right there carrying flowers and the rings and she was wearing pure white!"

"It was ivory." Ste says then grips your face in his hands. "My point is we don't need all that stuff. We just need our close friends, the kids and you and me."

"My ma is expecting something big, Ste. She has at least a dozen Spanish traditions that she wants us to respect."

He grins at you suddenly. "Shall we get away from the party for a bit?"

What a sharp change of subject.

"Why?"

"Private party." He whispers into your ear and smiles up at you pointedly.

Your eyes widen. "Why, Mr. Hay, you filthy man!"

He grins.

"During your own party?" You say incredulously.

He nods and looks up shyly at you through his lashes. "We'll be quick."

"But there are kids everywhere."

"We'll lock the door."

"Is this your way of getting me to say yes to a shotgun wedding?"

"Maybe. Will it work?"

You grin at him. "Let's find out!"

You salute at him then briskly walk out of the room in the direction of the flight of stairs that leads to your bedroom.

He is right behind you, trying to keep up. When you get to the top of the stairs you lift him over your shoulder and carry him into your room.

"I can walk you know!" He slurs merrily.

"Barely." You grin.

His phone starts ringing when you fling him onto the bed and you join him. You both ignore it. You assume it is either Pete or Amy telling you to stop being rude and unsociable and get down to join the party.

You help one another to take your clothes off quickly while pawing at each other and kissing every bit of exposed skin that you can get your lips on.

The phone keeps ringing. It is in his trousers on the floor near the bed. You try to continue to ignore it and lie on top of Ste, kissing him. Your hands disrupt the paint on his face as you trace your hands over it but it is hard to concentrate with the persistent ring tone that fills the air competing with your joint chorus of sighs and moans.

"Fucking phone." You mutter reaching out of the bed to get hold of it and turn the sound off but Ste stops you.

He pulls you back over him and grips your butt, pulling you to him as his legs encircle yours.

"Ignore it." He says. His tone is sharp and unexpectedly sober.

His hand grips your dick urgently as he looks at you with a feral expression that is determined and focussed. "And fuck me."

He kisses you and he melts against you. His body fits perfectly with yours, you think.

He pushes you off him then gently rolls away to reach for his phone. His body half hangs off the bed so that you get a good view of his pert behind.

"It's just Ames." He mutters over his shoulder before flicking the switch that turns the sound off and throwing it on the floor away from the bed. Then he grabs the lube on the side drawer and comes back to you.

"Yeah?" You say as you reach for him and pull him to you. "She can wait."

You are excited about your quickie. Who wouldn't be but there is something about Ste that is disconcerting. You don't want to admit it to yourself but there has been a shift in him that you can't put your finger on since getting back from Ireland. He is still attentive to you, caring, funny, and cute; everything you love about him. He still tells you he loves you but it doesn't sound the same to your ears. Are you being paranoid? He doesn't feel like he is here with you like he did before. It is as if there is a thin transparent sheet that coats him and makes him inaccessible.

You can't help but link this to him and Brendan. It makes you feel unsettled even though you know you don't have cause to be.

He loves you. End of.

He pours a generous amount of lube into his palm and jerks you off getting you harder than you already are.

You groan and try to pull him into a kiss but he turns away from you onto his side and backs up onto you, pushing his back into your chest and his arse against your groin. He rubs some lube onto his hole and then reaches back to guide your dick to his entrance.

He doesn't want to mess about today. He wants to get down to business straight away.

"Slow down, baby." You whisper but he ignores you. You bite down gently on his ear lobe as you feel the head of your dick slip into him.

"You want to slow everything down. The wedding. Now this." He groans and pushes down on you, engulfing you in his tight heat. Is that what this is about? His urgency to be with you smacks of desperation somehow.

Why?

Your arm circles around his waist as you plunge in deeper until you are fully seated in him. Spooning with a twist.

"I like to take my time with you." You whisper back and lick at his neck making him purr. "Sue me."

He starts moving first, driving his arse back onto you in smooth, languid circular gyrations that cause him to whimper. You forget the doubt in your mind as his fingers come up to comb through your hair.

"We have all the time in the world." He whispers as you begin to thrust into him, matching his gyrations.

Your eyes fall closed as you relish in the scent and feel of him; his short hair brushing against your chin, his short breaths pushing out of his lungs with each thrust, his warm skin becoming dewy with perspiration.

You open them again to catch sight of his phone on the floor blinking silently. Someone is still calling Ste. You can just about make out what the screen says.

BLOCKED

NUMBER

Who the fuck is unrelentingly trying to get hold of him? You can hazard a guess. No one that Ste knows here in England would come up as a blocked number on his phone.

Your mind goes to Brendan's son, Declan, who you met at that pub in Dublin. After all, he sent Ste that text message begging him not to ditch his father and to be his 'special friend'.

Ste read it on the day of your departure from Ireland as you waited in Dublin airport's departure lounge. You knew because his face suddenly dropped as he was checking his messages. His eyes became sad and red and his lips twitched with that strain that you knew came out of grief. He didn't answer you when you asked if he was okay. Instead he hid behind his sunglasses and deleted the message. He didn't speak to you for most of the flight home, faking sleep to avoid conversation. When you landed at John Lennon International Airport it was like he flipped a switch and the text message was forgotten. He looked at you, smiled and held your hand like he used; like you were his rock.

Anyway, you figured the caller was Declan which means Ste told you a barefaced lie when he said that it was Amy a few minutes ago. Has he been getting these calls before today? Has he ever answered them? Has he been keeping them secret from you?

"Marty." He groans and grips your arse to push you to him. "Come on."

You pull out and turn him over to reposition him on the bed so that he lies on his front and the phone is out of your eye line. You hold his hip tightly with one hand while the other pushes him down into the bed on his back transferring your weight onto him, pinning him down. He doesn't freak out like he would have done years ago at being trapped. Instead he parts his legs even more and voluntarily sticks his arse up in the air so that your cock sits in the clefts of his cheeks.

You wish you could get into his mind right now; find out what he is thinking. Is his mind on you alone or is he thinking about a past filled with another man that brought him equal parts of pleasure and pain?

You have never hurt Ste. Brendan has, deliberately; smacked him around, treated him like a dirty little secret and used words designed to cut deep. Yet Ste has gone back to him, like a moth to a flame, time and time again. You can't underestimate the power Brendan has over Ste no matter how much he messes Ste up.

You push your cock back into Ste forcefully getting a cry of pain and surprise from him. You expect him to scramble away from you, tell you to stop but he doesn't. You kiss his temple and the nape of his neck and he pushes back into you. You fuck him hard until you feel a sweat coming on. He moans while his hands grip the sheets, his teeth biting the pillow he is resting on and his toes curling. You reach round to feel his rigid cock and begin to pump it. His groans get so loud that you worry your guests might hear you. You cover him completely with your body and clamp a hand over his mouth then sink your teeth into his neck with more force than you intended to but he barely flinches. You feel the build up of a climax; your body goes tingly, your balls feel heavy as they slap against him. The sensation of your cock as it plunges into him makes you want to be where you are forever. When you find release you grasp him to you.

You are marking your territory.

Maybe he is right. Maybe you should just get married.

Soon.

You are breathless when you say,

"Okay. Fine. You have persuaded me but it can't be an elopement in Vegas. I still want to celebrate with family and friends. I want us to dance a _seguidillas_ _manchegas_ and I would like to give you _arras matrimoniales._ And we have to put our wedding bands on our right hands otherwise mum will freak out."

There is a low rumble of laughter as Ste turns over to look at you. His eyes are gleaming. "I understood like maybe half of what you said but we can do all of that if you want as long as it means we get hitched soon."

You smile. "Yeah. Okay."

He kisses you briefly then gets up and out of bed and picks up a towel. "We've got to get showered quickly. Otherwise Ames will come looking for us."

You stand up and follow him. The phone is still blinking away. You try grit your teeth and then blurt out,

"Ste, please just answer it and tell whoever the fuck it is to leave you the hell alone."


	25. The Reunion Nicola 5

_**Present Day (One month)...**_

You are trembling with fear. Even so you think that Warren has underestimated you the way men tend to more so than women.

They take one look at you and decide that you are little more than a fuckable clothes hanger. They talk to you as if you haven't got two brain cells to rub together or as though you are unable to process things around you to make your own opinions and conclusions. Maybe that is why your two best friends turned out to be gay men. Brendan's and Paddy's eyes don't wander down to your tits when you engage in meaningful conversation with them.

What these other men don't realise is that you can use their assumption to your advantage. They don't see your quick tongue and sharp mind coming.

You are hoping that Warren is one of them because he has scared the shit out of you.

He knows your name and that you work with Brendan and that you own two clubs. What else does he know?

You wave him off when he gets into his taxi. As soon as the car rounds the corner drop your fake smile.

You don't know who this man is exactly but you are one hundred percent certain that he is no friend of Brendan's. If he were, Warren would know there was no chance Brendan would be working tonight. Instead he took your word for it; didn't bat an eyelid. It makes you question whether Brendan even knows that Warren is in town and what his intentions are.

Instinctively, he feels like bad news but you played nice and acted like you believed his 'long-lost-friend' story. You didn't show your mistrust of him but you found out where he was staying by offering to call him a cab and you have hopefully put a halt to his sniffing around for a few hours by telling him that Bren will be a sure find if he waits until a trip to _THE ELECTRIC_ tonight.

Now you need to find out whom the fuck he is. There is no point calling Brendan now because his phone will be off so you ring his sister instead while grabbing your keys and locking up the club.

"Hey Chez." You say breathlessly as you jump into your car. "What can you tell me about a guy called Warren?"

"What?" Cheryl sounds distracted. You can hear kids crying in the background.

"He turned up at _VIBE_ looking for Brendan saying he was a friend from the past." There is a huge pregnant pause. You think you have been cut off so you say, "Cheryl?"

She says. "What did he look like?"

"Tall. Burly. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Regional accent. I want to say Manchester, maybe."

Cheryl says softly. "That twat! Warren Fox was my boyfriend ages ago. He cheated on me with some glamour model. He and Brendan were partners at the club my brother ran in Hollyoaks. They didn't see eye to eye at all, Niks. I know that they constantly bickered. They weren't friends."

"Was it anything more than bickering?"

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know. Anything shady or serious?"

"Brendan is a pussy cat compared to Warren. And no I don't think there was anything else. They were two very big fish in a small pond. They were constantly fighting for the title of head fish. Nothing more."

"Strange." You say. "Anyway, I was going to let your brother know. He gave me the creeps."

"That's Warren for you." Cheryl says. "The twat."

xo

As you walk into the oncology unit of St Vincent's Hospital you are struck by how used you are to doing this. Over the last month this trip has become routine. Brendan getting his chemo.

You briskly go to reception and speak to a familiar ward nurse.

"Hi. Is Brendan here yet?" You say, trying to keep the rising fear about Warren out of your voice.

"Yes. He is hooked up already. His sons are with him so you'll have to trade places. Only two visitors at a time!" She beams at you with that baby voice of hers. Why do people think that's cute?

"No problem." You need to speak with Bren without his son's around anyway.

"Make sure you gel your hands before you go in. We don't want to bring nasty bugsies into our cween clinical areas, now do we?" She says.

"No, we don't." You squirt the alcohol gel into your palm and rub it around while looking into the room.

Brendan is the only patient here right now. He is asleep in a reclined comfy chair, attached to his chemo meds with his sons either side of him. Declan is reading some veterinary book while listening to his I-pod, reminding you that the summer holidays are coming to an end. Paraic is inspecting the drip going into his father's arm.

"This one says Vincristine, Dec." He says. "The other one said Daunorubicin."

He prods his dad's arm to wake him up.

"Stop it, P. Let him sleep." Deccy says as their father stirs.

"But I want to ask him something."

"How would you like to be woken up when you felt like crap and just managed to get off to sleep?"

"You woke him up last time!" The younger boy says in hushed anger.

"Oi. No arguing you two." Brendan mumbles as he wakes up.

You check your hands. They are dry so you walk into the room. "Hi, boys."

"Hiya, Niks." Declan says.

Paraic waves at you.

"How long have I been asleep?" Brendan asks.

"Five minutes." Deccy says.

"Sorry about that, boys. I'm not great company now-a-days."

"Don't worry about it." Declan says as he closes his book. "We welcomed the peace and quiet."

Brendan gives him a small smile. "Cheeky eejit."

"Does this one hurt, dad?" Paraic asks pointing at the clear bag of chemotherapeutic medication hanging from the drip stand.

He has developed a morbid fascination about every detail of his father's treatment. With his obsession and Declan's developing medical knowledge the two of them have become extremely inquisitive and regularly pester staff with questions about his progress. The doctors have told Eileen that it is a natural grief reaction; a way of controlling what is incomprehensible to them; that their father is mortal.

"No. It doesn't." Bren sits up. "Just makes me feel tired, washed out and like I want to vomit after."

He has lost more weight since starting chemo. Weight he couldn't really afford to lose. So he is on nutritional supplements. His son's don't know that.

Also his hair has fallen out so he shaves it daily. Makes him look like a thug. You never reckoned on his moustache falling out though, but it did. That was a shock. It completely changed his appearance. You and Declan were there the day he shaved off the final resistant wispy hairs from his head and face earlier this week.

Declan shaved his hair off too and when Paraic saw his bald father and brother he demanded the same.

The Brady boys in it together.

You feel bad to break the visit but you have to speak with Bren. You are hoping he will reassure you that there is nothing to worry about.

"Boys, I need to have a quick word with your dad and he can only have two visitors at a time. Mind if you tag out for five minutes?"

Declan reads the urgency in your voice and says. "Sure, we'll go get some hot chocolate from the canteen."

When you are left alone Bren says, "Don't tell me the businesses have gone to shit without me."

He smiles. He has been surprisingly good natured through this ordeal. It is probably a front.

"I'm going to ignore that comment because we both know that I am the boss really."

"What's got you all worried?"

"Can you tell?" You reply. "Warren Fox rocked up to _VIBE_ about an hour ago."

You involuntarily shiver.

It is as if he has just seen a ghost. "Foxy?"

"So it is not good." You say.

"What did he want?

"He said he was in town to catch up with you. He wondered where he could find you."

He sits up straight but ends up collapsing back into the chair. He looks so tired. He strokes his smooth upper lip in a habit that is slow to die. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing." You study his countenance. Brendan is unsettled. "But he knew about me and he knew about our clubs, Bren."

You sit down in the chair Declan vacated. "Should I be worried?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken to Warren in six years. We settled the score."

"What score?"

His hands ball into fists. He is explosively angry. He trembles from it. "An... issue we had."

"Is there a chance he still has a bone to pick with you?"

"Did he say anything?"

"Nothing specific."

He closes his eyes momentarily. "Did he mention Stephen?"

You are surprised at his ex's mention.

"No. Why would he?"

He suddenly becomes agitated. "I need to find him."

You think quickly. Brendan is no fit state to have a conversation never mind face up to an old enemy. You won't let him walk into the Fox's den. "How are you going to do that then? You don't know where he is staying."

He slumps back into his chair. "Did he say he was coming back to the club?"

"No, but I'll let you know if he shows up again."

"Don't talk to him if you don't have to, Niks. You can't outsmart him. Just ring me if you see him and I'll come over straight away. He is a dangerous man."

"Okay, daddy bear. I will promise to stay away from the big bad wolf if you promise you'll get better soon."

"That's not fair. I have no control over my body." He says with a wry smile.

"Neither have I." I reply. You wink at him and leave quickly.

Your destination is not work.

Your first stop is _Jo-Jo's Motors_ to see whether Paddy can shed some more light on the Warren-Brendan situation. You don't go to Cheryl because you get the impression that she is unaware of any serious clash that there may have been between the men.

XOXO

_**Present Day (Day 5)...**_

You knock on Brendan's apartment door in the morning. He doesn't answer so you use your own set of keys to get in.

You cast your eye over the open plan living space. He isn't there so you walk to his bedroom. His bed is made, untouched. Did he sleep here last night? You check his en suite bathroom and the guest room that his sons use when they stay over. He isn't there either.

A panic begins to rise in you. What if he did something stupid after Cheryl came to see him yesterday? What if he couldn't face his diagnosis and the fact that his family now knew? What if him not being here had something to do with Ste and the fact that he was supposed to be leaving for England with his fiancé today?

You ring his phone as you walk back through to the living area but it goes straight to answer phone. That is when you see the glass doors that lead to his small balcony garden flung wide open.

Your heart stops as you run through the doors expecting to see the horrific scene of Brendan's dead body four floors below.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you see him asleep on a deck chair, bare foot, in jeans and a t-shirt in the warm morning weather. His lower lip is swollen and split causing you to wonder what happened to him. His is holding a t-shirt in his lap that you immediately recognise from five years ago. The one that belonged to Ste. The one that was covered in old blood. It isn't anymore. It looks clean. Soft. From how your best friend is holding it you are pretty sure no one would be able to prise it out of his hands without a fight.

This sleeping forty year old man looks peaceful right now. The lines on his face are smoothed out by repose. The scanty scattering of silver hairs near his temple look less marked. You look down at his neck. He is wearing a crucifix around it. Gold. Shimmery. If your memory serves you right it is very similar to the one that came in the parcel that Ste sent him. Could it be the same one?

You wonder why he is wearing it now.

He stirs and, as if knowing he is under scrutiny, he opens his eyes.

"Hi." You say as you hover over him, nervously.

"What are you doing here?" He says after blinking a couple of times and narrowing his eyes at you.

"I came to say I'm sorry." You clear your throat. "For what happened yesterday. I didn't mean to tell Cheryl or Declan."

He sits up suddenly and you take a step back thinking he is about to pounce but he stretches out instead without letting go of the t-shirt.

"Water under the bridge." He says then stands up slowly, flinging the black top onto his shoulder.

You follow him to the balcony railing to look out onto Herbert Park and match his pose; elbows on railing, chin on closed fists. It is a nice day out. Blue cloudless skies. The kind where you don't expect any drama to happen.

You could do with one of those days.

"What's with the lip?" You say, involuntarily tonguing your own as you look at his swollen one.

"Cute huh?" He says. "This is courtesy of Ste's fiancé's fist. He paid me a visit in the middle of the night. I think he likes me."

"He came to see you? Why?" You ask.

Brendan looks out into the distance. His eyes look contemplative. He doesn't say anything for a while so you figure he isn't going to tell you and there is never any point in pushing him.

"Because I deserved it." He says and smiles at you humourlessly. "It's ironic really, Niks, and no one will ever know why. That blond Adonis punched me for the wrong reason. I didn't do what Braveheart thinks I did but I did something that he doesn't know I did. You get it?"

You shake your head. Is he high or something?

"What are you talking about, Bren?"

He leans into you, boring his eyes into yours.

"Things aren't always what they seem. The truth isn't always the truth and people lie to people they care about to protect them."

"Are you saying that is what you did?"

He nods.

"What did you do that Martin doesn't know about?" You ask. "Where were you yesterday evening?"

His smile becomes genuine. Pure. Far away. Not his usual ironic smirk or sarcastic tick. His hand goes to the crucifix and he closes his eyes as if remembering a specific moment.

"Were you with Ste?" You hope that his expression does not reflect what you think. "Please tell me you didn't fuck Ste yesterday."

He looks out at the view but his expression is distant.

"You did, didn't you?" You say incredulously. "You fucked him!"

"Calm down." He shakes his head. "I didn't."

"Christ, Brendan. Those guys aren't having some meaningless fling. They are engaged to be married! You can't mess with that."

"I didn't sleep with him, Niks." He insists.

"No?"

"No." He says. "There was a problem."

"You couldn't get it up?"

He scowls at you. "No condoms. Eejit."

"Ste didn't push you away?"

Brendan grunts then shrugs. You take that as a no.

"Where were you?"

"I went to his hotel. Wanted to say bye, I guess, and to explain myself. Then the clothes came off."

"That is why he was late last night." You say thinking back on Martin's anxious wait while his fiancé didn't fuck his ex in their hotel bed because neither had condoms. You aren't one to judge but this situation strikes you as super fucked up with both Martin and Ste hooking up with their exes when they should have been together.

"So that's why Martin decked ye." You point at his lip. "I don't blame him."

"No. He doesn't know about me and Stephen. If that had been the reason I would put my hand up and say fair play. I deserve it. I tried to get with your man."

"So then why did he punch you?"

"Because he doesn't know that he should have thanked me for something I did. I gave him back his _Ste_. I... wrote something to Stephen to push him away." He looks away from you and rubs his moustache vigorously then runs a shaky hand through his hair. "A small white lie. Nothing really. Designed to be misinterpreted. Just enough."

"What did you tell him?"

"I made it clear why me and him were a bad idea. Why it could never work. He is there." He points at one spot on the railing. "I am here." He points at another spot. "I can't ever give him what he needs. It's better this way."

You are sure his eyeballs are glistening with unspent tears.

"Brendan. Look at me." You coax him with your finger on his chin to do just that.

"Bloody hell!" You whisper. "You love him, don't you?"

"Don't be soft." He says but there is no punch in his words. No conviction. It is as good as him saying 'yes'.

"You do. You carry mementos of him like good luck charms."

You touch his crucifix where it rests on his chest.

"Do you think he loves you?" You ask.

He clears his throat. "He told me he did. Yesterday."

"So then why do you think you can't offer him what he needs?"

"A second ago you were having a go because I was breaking a happy home."

"That is before I knew you weren't just fucking around with him. If you love Ste and Ste loves you then you should be together. It might break Martin's heart but it is better than being second best. I have met the guy a couple of times now. He deserves better than that."

"You don't know what you are talking about, Niks. It is not as easy as that."

"Don't patronise me. I am no expert on love but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that if you are lucky enough to find someone that fits like a glove you hold onto them. I can't understand why you pushed him away."

"I know I did the right thing. I am not dragging Stephen back so that he has to live through what I have to go through. He has been through enough crap to last him a lifetime. He has had a shit childhood then a shit adolescence. Then he met me."

"Things got better, right?" She says.

"You are cute when you play dumb." He says deadpan. "You really don't know me, Niks. Not properly."

He holds your gaze and you shudder with the heat behind his eyes. "I used to beat him up."

You were not expecting that. Declan had alluded to a rocky start to their relationship but your mind never entertained something as serious as domestic violence. You don't know what to think. Your skin crawls thinking that someone you call a friend could done that to another human being.

"See. That is the kind of man I was." He nods. "Bruises. Broken ribs. The works. And do you know what he did?"

You shake your head numbly.

"He stayed. Told me he loved me. I used him, Niks. Got him involved in some shady get rich quick schemes. Treated him like shit in public to hide the fact that I was fucking him in private. When he saw sense and left me I selfishly pulled him back to me because _I_ needed _him_ even though he had found someone so much better."

"That's fucked up." You choke out. "I don't want to hear any more."

"Why? You were saying that he should be with me and I am telling you why he shouldn't. Why I did what I did yesterday. Why Martin punched me."

"You didn't want Ste to continue his pattern of being the victim and going back to you." You say. "So are you saying you would hit him again?"

Just that suggestion has shocked him.

"No. Jesus. Never. I am not proud of what I did."

"When did you stop hitting him?"

"Why is it important?"

"When?"

"Four months into being with him."

"What made you stop?"

He looks at you as is if he can't believe you are doing this to him. "It became unbearable. I could feel his pain with every fist. It was never about him, my anger. He did nothing wrong. I was the fucked up one."

"So you changed?" You say.

"No one changes, Niks. Not deep down."

"Your behaviour changed. You relearned how to manage your anger. You stopped beating him. You went public with your relationship."

"I was still bad for him."

"Why? Was he unhappy when you were together?"

"Fuck, Nicola, you sound just like Chez."

"Did he make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Someone once told me that love is the opposite of romantic. That it is like an instinct; selfless and all consuming. That it is there even when the person isn't, when things get tough just as much as when things are great. This friend said that love was in remembering every detail and it is there for life."

You are reflecting his own monologue from three years ago. He remembers because he raises an eyebrow and says,

"Whoever said that was an over-emotional dick."

You smile. "Believe me, he isn't, but more to the point I think he is wrong. I reckon love is what you make it. It is individual. It can be for eternity or for right now. It can be monogamous or open. The key is that the people involved should believe in the same kind of love. It should be synchronous. Then it works. Ste was happy. Full stop."

He pulls Ste's black t-shirt off his shoulder and toys with it, rubbing the fabric between his hands. "He won't be if he has me. All the love in the world can't cure cancer, Niks. I am not putting him through it with me. End of subject."

"He is leaving today." You try.

"I know." He looks at his watch. "In an hour and a half."

"Plenty of time to do that thing they do in the movies."

He raises an eyebrow at you. "What's that then?"

"It always happens at the end. The man or the woman, whoever has been in denial about their feelings, runs to a railway station or airport or wherever and stops their loved one from leaving by declaring their undying love for them."

He wraps his arms around you in a big bear hug and kisses the top of your head. "But this is reality."

"So?"

"I have an appointment with the chemo docs at three pm today."

"Oh."

"Could you come with me?"

"You sure you don't want Chez with you?"

"She's got three kids to take care of. I need my best mate."

You grin because he never calls you that.

"I can promise hardcore drugs, pricks, and men in uniform." He says with a smile.

"Why didn't you say so sooner? I'm there!"


	26. The Reunion Stephen 6

_**Present Day (Day Five)...**_

When you land at John Lennon Airport in Liverpool you breathe a sigh of relief. You are home. Well nearly. The nightmares and confusion of the last four days can be put to rest. You can put the whole experience behind you.

You interlace your fingers with Martins' as you walk past airport security into the arrivals lounge with your baggage in tow and smile up at him. Your rock. Always there. Solid and reliable. Warm and supportive. He smiles back ignoring the snide looks and comments from a group of kids next to you who must be returning from a summer school trip. His kisses you and it is as much a show of affection as it is a 'fuck you' to them and their intolerance.

"Glad to be home?" He asks lifting an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Same." He breathes a heavy sigh.

In the corner of your eye you see the silhouette of two bouncing, silent children beyond the security barrier. Lucas and Leah are waving frantically at you and Martin. Amy is next to them keeping them in check. You wave back with a big grin on your face and that is enough to kill Lucas's composure. He screams, "Daddy!" then ducks under the barrier and runs full pelt to you until his body collides with yours with a hard thud.

"Get back here, Lucas!" Amy hisses at him. "You shouldn't be there!"

You lift him up for a second to hug him. He is getting tall and gangly, like his parents. Heavy too so you set him down on his feet again.

"Mum said not to run and scream, Lucas!" Leah shouts as she runs to you too and pulls you into a four way hug. "Hi, Martin!"

"Hi, princess." Marty says to your twelve year-old daughter.

Amy dips her head in shame and waits for the four of you to make your way back to her if border security doesn't cart your children away for breach of security first.

"What did I say about staying on this side of the barrier?" She asks them firmly when they sheepishly look at her.

"Can't remember." Lucas says with a smile.

"I missed you so much, daddy." Leah says and adds shyly. "And you Martin."

"Same here!" Lucas says.

"We missed you too." You say before looking at a frazzled Amy. "Hey you."

"Welcome home, boys." She says.

XOXO

Going to Dublin has taught you two things about yourself that you aren't proud of. Firstly, you can be deceptive when you want to be. You lied by omission when you didn't tell Martin about what happened between you and Brendan in your hotel room even after he confessed to his kiss with Toby. Secondly, you have discovered how weak willed you really are. It took no more than a brief encounter with your first true love on his home turf to make you forget all that had been wrong with your relationship with him and all that was right with your relationship with Martin.

In that moment, in room 715 of the O'Callaghan Davenport, you wanted Brendan back.

"I love you."

That is what he said to you.

_I love you. _

_I miss you._

Brendan seemed to mean it. He really did. The way he said it. The way he touched you when he said it. The way he made you feel. So, like an idiot, you fell for it and fell into his arms. You betrayed the promise to yourself to never give him the time of day ever again and your promise to Martin that it would only ever be you and him forever. You wanted him to love you so badly that you ignored how farfetched that fantasy was because that is what it has always been. A fantasy. There is no way Brendan has ever loved you. Ever.

You gullible idiot. You even said 'I love you' back.

You should know he is incapable of loving you by now. He is psychopathic. That is your conclusion after rifling through one of Martin's psychology books.

_Psychopathy- a personality disorder characterised by a pervasive pattern of disregard for, or violation of, the rights of others. It may involve a lack of empathy or remorse, false emotions, selfishness, grandiosity or deceptiveness, impulsiveness, irritability, aggression, or inability to perceive danger and protect one's self or others._

He came to your hotel room and played with your emotions just because he could. He threw you a ray of hope only to cruelly tear it away with a scribbled note on the back of a faded picture. Predator toying with prey. There is only ever one conclusion in that scenario. Prey never wins. At best it survives for one more day.

When you looked in Martin's book for a term that defined you the closest you got was,

_Masochist- someone__ who enjoys pain, or who derives pleasure from harming oneself or being harmed by others._

Maybe that is what you are. In a weird way you are addicted to the pain Brendan causes you. Why else did you give him yet one more chance when you have someone like Martin in your life?

"It has to stop." Amy's words cut through your thoughts. "Now. It has to stop."

She is firm with you just like when she is disciplining the kids. In fact this feels like a telling off.

"Yeah." You say then sip on your hot tea in the warm summer weather.

You are at her place, in her garden, during a break between lunch and dinner service at _PECKISH!_. You have been back in town two days but this is the first real chance the two of you have had to catch up since the kids are at friend's houses and your other halves are working.

You have filled her in on all the details of your trip from hell and she is far from happy.

"I'm serious, Ste. Enough already. It has been eight years since he came into your life. Six since he finally left. Brendan is a nut job. You have got to let go."

Your phone rings and you ignore it.

"Um, Ste. Phone."

"Yeah. Whatever. Ignore it." You say vaguely. You know it is a blocked number without looking at it. You have been getting between five and fifteen missed calls a day from it in the last two days.

"Who is it?" She asks.

"Not sure."

"Please tell me it isn't Brendan."

"As if!" You say incredulously. Besides you would know if Brendan was ringing you in a flash from the ring townunless he has changed his number. You turn the mobile onto silent to spare your ears. "I think it's Declan."

"Why? What do you think he wants?"

"Dunno. For me to be his dad's 'special friend'?" You have told her about the text he sent you.

"Maybe you should tell him that you already have a special friend thank you very much."

"No. I'm not talking to him. I don't want to get sucked into Brendan's life no more, Ames. "

_I can't trust myself. _

All of a sudden you feel tired. This emotional rollercoaster is exhausting.

"I get it." Amy says empathetically.

"I think I should tell Martin, you know, about what happened at the hotel." You say suddenly. "I can't lie to him. It's not fair."

"I don't think that's a good idea. I know that you should be honest but how is telling him going to help in this case. Draw a line under what happened and move on. Put it down to a bad decision."

You hold your head in your hand to hide your expression from Amy because at the time it didn't feel like the wrong decision. How can something that feels so _perfect_ be so wrong?

"I don't want to be harsh, Ste, but Brendan doesn't love you. Someone like him doesn't know what love is. You know that right? He knew what he had to say to get you to cheat on Martin and get you into bed."

You feel yourself welling up because Ames is right. Of course she is. "I know."

You finish your tea in silence and then tell your best friend. "I love Martin. I do."

"But."

"No but."

"You don't love him as much as Brendan." She says as if this is fact.

You rest your head on her bony shoulder. Neither of you has meaningfully bulked up over the years despite her three excursions at child-bearing and your three trips a week to the gym. You are still a pair of waif-like baby-faced creatures that occasionally get IDed at clubs and when buying alcohol at the shops to the embarrassment of your partners.

"I don't know. It's hard to explain. Like with Brendan, I feel this fire in my belly." You touch your stomach. The flutter is there even just thinking about him. "I tell my body to stop feeling it, Ames, because it is stupid. Like what is the point? My common sense tells me to let it go but how I feel, it is like an instinct. I can't help it. When I am with him it becomes so big and I think how can I feel so strongly and it be just one sided? How can he not feel it too?"

You feel her stroke your head gently with her fingers, brushing against your short hair.

"He were ill when we were out there, under the weather with summat and all I could think were 'I want to know you'll be okay or make you some warm soup or get you checked out at the doctor or summat'. I still cared. And it hurt me when I left him at the restaurant and when I said bye to him at his flat and when I left Ireland but it were a thousand times worse when he walked out on me again at the hotel."

You look at her desperately. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No. You're just being human."

"I'm insane. What's that saying Pete uses? 'Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again..."

"... And expecting different results'." Amy finishes. "Einstein."

"Yeah. I'm insane. Einstein can't be wrong."

"You are here in Chester not there with Brendan. There is hope." She gives you a chaste kiss on the lips. "But there are two things you have to consider. One is staying away from Brendan and the other is deciding whether you want to be with Martin. You can't string him along. Let him go if you won't give him one hundred and ten percent because you know he won't give you any less."

You think on this and make your mind up quickly. Five great years cannot be destroyed by four days.

"I think we should finally set a date."

She pulls you into a hug.

"Thank God for that!" She mutters against you in relief.

XOXO

_**Present Day (One month later)...**_

The 'blocked number' phone calls stopped a couple of days ago. The torture is finally over. You no longer have to deal with the internal struggle of not picking up the phone when it rings and you can try and forget the text Declan sent you before you left Ireland.

_I really hope you guys make peace with each other. My dad needs a special friend right now._

Why aren't you relieved? Why do you feel like there is a huge void where the sound of the phone used to be. You got used to it and felt a little comforted by its insessant ringing but yesterday you only got two calls on your personal phone; one from Martin and one from Amy. Dejected, you got home and went straight to bed claiming a vicious headache when Martin picked up on your upset. When he joined you in bed later in the night and embraced you, you feigned sleep. You hid your tears from him.

Today, you have made a point of not checking your phone at all. You are at the end of dinner service at _PECKISH!_. It is eleven-thirty and you and Jo are nearly done cleaning up in the kitchen. The twenty-three year old sous-chef is a great help; private but keen to learn, hard-working, precise and inventive.

You are tired and all you want to do is go home, sleep and forget about the calls you are no longer getting but your night is not over yet. Martin is coming over to pick you up to take you out for drinks in town. It's a weekday and he has a normal working day tomorrow so you know this is him making a special effort for you; something he has been doing with more frequency since getting back from Dublin.

"Hi, Martin." Jo spots your other half before you do.

"Hi." Martin says to him then walks up to you as you stop polishing an already gleaming kitchen counter. He gives you a kiss. "Hi, handsome."

"Hi." You say. He is smartly dressed for the night ahead and looking fresh, flushed and pumped. His hair is wet and he smells of shower gel. "Did you go to the gym?"

"Yeah." He grins. "It's an addiction."

"It's not fair. I look like crap next to you." You pout.

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Don't. I stink." You say.

"Of food." He says, sniffing your collar. "Um. Mouthwatering." He gives you a wink and your arse a hard slap. "Come on. Get showered and changed. Chester is waiting for us."

He leans in to give you an intense kiss that you return until you feel his hand cup your butt.

You push it away. "Jo's here."

"Please." Your sous-chef says as he runs a mop over the floor. "You guys are always all over each other."

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" Marty asks light-heartedly. "The gay thing?"

"No mate." Jo says and continues his chores. "My sister's gay so, like, whatever."

"Actually you can go now, Jo." You say. "I'm nearly done here anyway. Martin can help me close up."

"You sure?" Jo says but he has already dropped the mop and is taking his white uniform top off.

"Yeah. Good job today."

"Thanks boss. My girlfriend is waiting up for me so, thanks."

He practically sprints out of the place.

"Young love, ey?" Martin says when you hear the main door slam shut.

"Yeah."

He slowly unbuttons your white chef jacket and helps you out of it before tossing it aside to reveal your plain vest underneath.

"Remember how _we_ were at the beginning?" He looks you up and down appreciatively. He has a knack of making you feel like you are the best thing since sliced bread, Martin has.

"Yeah." You grin then tease. "I wouldn't let you touch me with a barge pole!"

He laughs at that. "If barge pole is code for penis and touch you is code for fucking you then yes."

"Marty!" You shove him away.

"I was referring to how we were _after_ the months of blue balls!"

"We made up for lost time." You say feeling your cheeks go red.

He grins and changes conversation to something more comfortable for you. "How was your day?"

"Busy in a good way. You?"

"Same old. Same old." He holds your hips so you automatically snake your arms over his shoulders. "Good, bad and ugly."

"Is it okay if we don't make tonight a really big one? I'm shattered." You confess.

He studies you for a while as if trying to read an agenda behind your words. "Yeah. Sure. We'll get a couple of drinks and then call it a night."

"Thanks. I'll get showered. Ten minutes. Tops." You pull out of his embrace but he grabs your arm and pulls you back to him.

"Um, before you go." He sounds hesitant. "I was thinking about what you said about getting married sooner rather than later."

Your heart flips. Neither of you have brought that up since your birthday party. You had hoped Martin would forget. It had been an impulsive suggestion. Not that you regret saying it... it is just that you are happy to wait.

"You don't want to?" You ask.

He grins at your worried expression. "Well, no. I mean, I've been doing some investigating. What do you think about getting married in Spain?"

"Huh?"

"It is legal there and I am half Spanish so it wouldn't be totally random."

"Spain?" You feel your mouth dry up.

"Yes. And it would be a proper marriage recognised by the state. Not a civil partnership. Not a civil union. Marriage."

"But the legal rights we will get here will be the same as Amy and Pete have. There is no difference."

"But theirs is called a marriage while ours won't be. That's inequality, Ste. Why can't we gays get married? It is the government's way of saying, 'all animals are equal but some are more equal than others'."

You scratch your head in exasperation. You haven't got a political bone in your body while Martin is all about championing gay rights. You don't see what the problem is. As long as you get equal entitlements to married straight couples and you and Martin forge a union of two committed people who love each other, you are happy.

"Your parents are Catholic, right?" You say gripping his hands.

You have seen pictures of Martin's baptism as a baby and confirmation as a pre-teen. He was a devote follower of the faith himself until he went to university and dared to attend Sunday mass at his local church with his then boyfriend only to be kicked out unceremoniously in the middle of service when the priest became upset with 'the sign of peace' Martin chose to show his boyfriend; a kiss on the cheek.

"Yes. What's your point?"

"If we go to Spain can we have our wedding in that small chapel they got married in?"

Your point dawns on him. "You know we can't."

"I rest my case. It doesn't matter whether the government says we are married or not. No one can force institutions like the church or individuals to change their beliefs, Marty."

"But marriage is about more than just you and me. We know what we mean to each other. I know it sounds soppy but I want to marry you because I want to publically acknowledge my love for you to the world. I want to know that we are protected in society so that if something happens to either of us then the other has rights. I want to tell everyone that the way I feel for you is no different to how straight people feel for each other. That we are just as worthy of marriage."

You feel a rising wave in the pit of your stomach that you recognise as guilt as it builds and builds.

You don't feel worthy of Martin right now. You feel like a con-artist. You should tell him about what happened with Brendan in Dublin; how you let yourself be touched by him and vice versa. How the only thing that stopped you going all the way was a stupid bit of latex.

You squeak trying to get your words out but he stops you with a kiss. You melt into him as he lifts you up onto a kitchen counter and circles your legs around his waist as he bruises your mouth with his. His hands go under your vest lifting it up and spread over your naked back. His face buries itself into your neck. You stare ahead at the door that has a green EXIT sign above it as you feel his touch on your body, his lips on your skin. You have a way out if you want it. It is right there but you don't take it.

You don't want to. He is your Martin so you wrap your legs around him more determinedly, trapping him to you and you whisper into his ear as your fingers play with his hair,

"I've got to get showered."

He groans and pushes off you. "Tease."

You give him a small smile as you jump off the counter and pull your vest down.

"If you want to tie the knot here in Chester it's no big deal." He concedes.

You look at his expectant face. He is all kinds of adorable really. And hot. And smart. And hard to say no to.

"I didn't say that, did I?" You say.

He frowns.

"What else did you find out about us getting married in Spain?"

"Oh." He grins getting it. "There is a venue just outside Barcelona. _Castell De L'Oliver_. The place I took you for that meal in the hills."

You remember. Beautiful. Classic. "The castle with the palm trees?"

He nods. "They have a last minute cancellation."

"When?"

"Kind of soon. Too soon maybe." He shrugs.

"Really soon?"

"This weekend."

Your heart speeds up and your breath catches in your throat; the beginnings of a panic attack.

That's in four day's time.

"It was a stupid thought really." Martin says. "There is no way we can cobble a ceremony together in that time."

You take a deep breath and calm down. Why the drama? This is what you want. You should be honoured to spend the rest of your life with Martin so you smile at him and say,

"You are kidding, right? Anything is possible. First thing tomorrow we should tell them we will take the booking. Maybe we can do a deal on all the stuff they prepared for the event that got cancelled. Then we have to see who can come, buy suits, plane tickets and organise accommodation."

"Are you serious? You want to do this?"

"We need to get wedding bands." You let a smile creep onto your face as you picture the moment where you will exchange rings.

Actually...

"How much do you reckon it'll cost us?"

"Shit loads." He says. He is grinning though.

He scoops you into his arms. He does have the tendency to lift you up given your disparate sizes. Normally, like now, it makes you feel safe and protected.

"Now let's get you cleaned up." He says as he carries you to the shower room round the back of the bistro.

You wrap your arms tightly around his neck and grin into it.

XOXO

_**John Lennon Airport...**_

"Okay, is everyone here?" Peter asks Amy while holding a wriggling Liam in his hands as she looks over a list of names in her hand. Given the short notice there are a fair number of your friends lined up in the departure lounge ready to fly out of Liverpool. They were all up for a last minute weekend away especially with the wicked deals Martin managed to find on flights and accommodation.

"I am!" Lucas shouts enthusiastically, clutching his hand luggage and small suit carrier.

"Me too!" Leah screams.

The kids have been ridiculously excitable since you and Martin told them the news of your trip to Spain. In the five years you have travelled out there on short breaks you have only taken them twice.

Amy checks everyone's names against a list in her hand.

"Yep. Everyone is present and accounted for, boss!" She tells her husband.

You glance at the departure board.

_Ryanair Flight LPL-BCN 11.45-15.10 Now Boarding On time_

All your guests are buzzing. You have friends from Hollyoaks; Doug, Mitzeee, Rae, Pierre, Rhys, Jacqui, Michaela and her brother John Paul. Mickey introduces to you as 'my gay brother' not remembering that you vaguely know John Paul from Hollyoaks High school where he was a few years your senior and where he was the subject of bullying for being gay. Four friends you met since moving to Chester five years ago are also coming including Chef Pierre. Martin's friends outnumber yours by a small margin. The three groups of friends blend nicely and will be joined by Martin's Scottish and Spanish family once you arrive in Barcelona. You try not to think about the fact that your mother is not attending despite you offering to pay for her ticket and allowing your step-father, Terry, to come.

'_If it was in Chester I would come, Ste. You know I don't care that you have shacked up with a man.' _

Which means that she does care.

'_The thing is Terry doesn't like flying and you know he can't be by himself for too long.'_

Sure. She can't leave her dead beat abusive alcoholic husband for two minutes but she is happy to miss her only son's important day.

'_It's fine, mum. I'll send you pictures.'_

'_If you want.'_

Martin puts a hand on Lucas's shoulder and says, "We should get going. The boarding gate is open."

The excitement is overwhelming and you can't help but get swept along in it.

"Can you believe it that we are leaving as single men but we are going to return a married couple?" Martin whispers into your ear.

You grin from ear to ear and nod at him. "Can't wait."

He presses his lips to yours and you get cat-calls and wolf-whistles from your friends.

"Uh. Gross." Lucas says and when his mother kisses Pete he repeats himself.

Your whole group begins to walk towards the gate.

"What do you think about your dad getting married, guys?" Doug asks your son and daughter as he falls into step with you.

"Cool. Like finally." Leah says, one hundred percent the princess.

Lucas adds, "Mummy always says it's about time Martin makes dad honest. What does that mean?"

A ripple of embarrassed laughter runs through the group.

"You mean Martin making an honest man of your dad?" Doug giggles.

Lucas nods earnestly.

"Ste, you going to explain that to your son?" Dougie ribs you.

You try to think of a way to worm yourself out of talking about the birds and the bees and traditional versus modern views on premarital sex with your nine year old son. Luckily your phone rings. You grin apologetically, not immediately recognising the ringtone, and then check who is calling you.

Your smile fades in an instant.

You drop the mobile as if it has suddenly turned blazing a hole into your hand and you go stock still prompting everyone to stop too and gather around you curiously.

Martin picks up your mobile and looks at the caller ID.

BRENDAN CALLING...

He looks at you with fearful wide eyes and after a moment he extends it out to you.

"Are you going to answer that?" He asks.

Amy, Pete and Doug's eyes flicker between you and the phone. They can see who is calling. Heck, your whole wedding party is silently staring at you. The only sound that penetrates your brain at that moment is the 'final announcement' that you should be boarding your aircraft and Al Green's _Simply Beautiful_ blaring from your mobile.

You blush because the song is so personal and you wonder whether it is obvious to everyone gathered around you how much it means to you. Brendan played it the night he asked you to move in with him. It was the last ringtone you heard before you got abducted when he called to say bye to you once again because the bye you had at the club wasn't enough. That was a phone call that was supposed to mark the beginning of a joint existence under one roof not the tragedy that actually followed.

You take the phone from Martin's hand and will yours to stop trembling.

BRENDAN CALLING...

ANSWER DECLINE

You smile; a facial expression that is the complete opposite to how you feel inside; like laughing at a funeral.

You press DECLINE and take Martin's hand in yours.

"Let's go." You say to him as you lower your sunglasses over your eyes and lead your group of family and friends to the boarding gate.


	27. The Reunion Warren 6

_**Six years ago...**_

"I have dealt with the problem." You whisper into the phone without pre-amble or pleasantries the second Brendan picks up.

Two weeks have passed since the incident at the barn.

Brendan says nothing for a while. "You took your time."

"I took care of it almost straight away. You can't leave that kind of unfinished business out in this weather for too long. It starts to gather flavour of the unpleasant kind. I didn't get back to you earlier in case the police were onto us."

"You haven't turned up to work when one of the club's employees has been kidnapped and hospitalised without giving anyone a reason. _That_ looks shady. The police were asking after you."

"I'm sure you came up with a decent excuse for my absence."

"Trip to Thailand to get a sex change op." He says drily.

"Funny. Call me Wendy." You say then turn right back to business. "They haven't got any leads, have they? The boys in blue? About what happened..."

He doesn't answer you.

"I mean they don't even know John was there."

"No." He says with no emotion then clears his throat. "I need to know that this is over."

You aren't sure what he means so you take a guess. "I've learnt from our Danny experience. Believe me, there will be no body cropping up in the future."

You try to white out the visual of amber flames and the smell of burning flesh.

"That's not what I'm talking about." He says slowly, tensely.

His breathing is heavy; an exercise in control. "I'm done with you. You hear? I want you to buy a one way ticket out of the country."

"Ey?" You laugh at the ludicrousness of his request. "I'm not going anywhere. I live here. This is my home."

"Not anymore." He sneers over the line, keeping his voice low and measured. "Because if I ever lay eyes on you it's game over and if you think I'm joking know that I'm not. You've fucked with what's mine, Warren."

"Calm down, Bren..."

"Stephen... he nearly died... you prick..."

He takes a breath. It is exhaled slowly. A tremble marrs it. Jesus. Does he want you to stay away because of your involvement in what happened to his boyfriend? Is he serious?

"Oh, come on! I know you have a soft spot for rat-boy. I can't think of many people who would let themselves be fucked that hard without begging for mercy."

His silence speaks for his embarrassment.

"Yeah, I caught you in the act after hours at the club one night but you can't seriously tell me that you are asking me to leave just because of that scally!"

"Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Brendan shouts over the line in a burst of emotion that has been just under the surface all along. You are stunned by the level of grief and venom in his tone.

"Ever! I want you gone, Warren! I am not going to count to ten and I am not going to ask nicely. I need you to fuck off! If I get so much as a hint that you are near a family member of mine... if I find out that you are anywhere near Stephen..."

He draws a shaky breath.

"... You are dead meat."

You shudder.

You believe him.

Brendan Brady has already killed two men for Stephen. He could decide to make it a hat-trick. He is crazy or in love or maybe the two emotions are two sides of the same coin. You certainly found them hard to distinguish when you were with sexy, sultry Louise and then with feisty Mitzeee.

"Okay." You say. "Okay. I'm gone. But my share of _Chez Chez_..."

"I'll speak to Tony. He has wanted to branch out into the night club business. You can use the money to start a new life. See how nice I can be?"

"I need to say bye to Mitzeee."

"I'll tell her you had to dash. Bye, Warren. See you never."

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

You haven't got an issue with Brendan. Not really.

You just want a guarantee from him...

And maybe an admission of guilt.

_Dear Warren,_

_Yes. Fine. I admit it. I stole your £50,000, and then I gave it to Ste using an inheritance pay out cover story because I felt guilty for what happened to him. Sorry. I should have never laid my grimy, sticky fingers on your shit because it resulted in bad karma._

_Your bitch for life,_

_Brendan_

That would be a bonus and make you feel less like the villain of the piece.

But the real reason for being here in Dublin seeking out Brendan is that you want to come home. Great Britain. England. Not Hollyoaks. Manchester. Where you were born and raised.

Call it nostalgia. Whatever. You want to touch the green, green grass of home without the apprehension of knowing that the tache-man still has a bone to pick with you. You are too old for archenemies. You crave a quiet peaceful life, a cold pint and comfortable shoes... for the most part. You can't spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. You need to confront Brendan and lay down some ground rules. Tell him that as far as you are concerned what happened six years ago is water under the bridge.

If he decides to be a dick about it because his poor little ex got a booboo then you will show him your ugly side once again because you are not leaving the UK again. Not for that Irish prick.

xo

You stand in front of a pair of glass double doors set in a redbrick building with a large blue neon sign saying _THE ELECTRIC_ on it.

It is still fairly light out in Dublin's city centre despite being seven thirty in the evening.

The club officially opens in half an hour for the early birds but when you push against the doors they open against your pressure.

You are getting used to this. Unlocked premises. Has Brendan gone soft?

You enter and immediately notice the difference between the two clubs. This place feels younger, looser and more accessible. It is cavernous; opening up onto an unpopulated dimly lit large dance floor after passing through an unmanned ticket booth and coat room. Mood lighting flashes across the room bathing the area with alternating colours of the rainbow. It should be garish but it has a mesmerising kaleidoscopic effect. It works.

The floor above is a wide balcony that goes all the way around the perimeter of the club to allow clubbers a panoramic view on the floor that you are on. Jazz house plays in the background from a comprehensive sound system that must blow clubber's ears off when it operates at full capacity.

Right now the speakers are whispering mellow tunes.

There must be someone here.

"Hello?" You say loudly. Your voice echoes through the room.

After a moment you hear a voice.

"Oi, mate. Club's still closed. Come back in thirty minutes, yeah."

You narrow your eyes to focus on a man who is leaning out of a brightly lit room on the other side of the dance floor. You assume it is an office. It emits the only light on that side so that the back lighting throws his profile into relief. A dark mysterious figure.

"You've got to start locking your doors if you don't want people to come in." You say over the music at him, squaring your shoulders.

He stands squarely in doorway of the office. "Yeah well, we all have more important stuff on our minds at the minute. Must have forgotten. Thirty minutes and you can come right back in." He calls over to you and then glances back into the office.

You raise an eyebrow.

Hang. On. A. Second.

You recognise that voice. Don't you? You try to make out the guy's features and take a step onto the dance floor closer to him.

"I'd rather wait here. Thanks though." You fold your arms across your chest. "I'm here to see a friend. Brendan Brady."

It is as though you have said 'open sesame'.

Suddenly he is walking briskly to you while running a nervous hand through his hair and then down his chest as if patting the material of his t-shirt down.

"Who's asking?"

You try to catch his features in the ever changing lighting of the room.

He draws to a stop before you. His jaw drops and his eyes widen. He has recognised you and you have recognised him too.

He still has that bad boy look and classically handsome features. You have enough insight to see what the girls might like in him. Good head of brown hair. Hazel eyes. The body of someone who grafts hard for a living. Tattoos covering his arms. They probably divide opinion. Cool to some. Obscene to others. Direct, penetrating eyes that give you one hundred and ten percent of their attention.

Dangerous eyes.

"Warren Fox?"

Vigilant eyes.

"Fuck me." You say with a grin. "How's things, Paddy?"

"What are you doing here?" He asks. He has that same flat disinterested tone Brendan had. It is as if they went to the same school for Bad Ass Boys.

You and Paddy have history that is seven years old. That is a whole other story but suffice to say that Paddy played his part, following your threats of harm to his family, in briefly orchestrating one of Ste and Brendan's more spectacular break ups. You got him over to Hollyoaks and told him to set the cat out among the pigeons. Ste learned some unsavoury home truths about the guy he was sleeping with so he dumped Brendan. Paddy went back to Dublin. Brendan grovelled with Ste. Ste took him back. Bla. Bla. Bla. Same old. Same old.

Anyway, you have no time to deal with Paddy now. You just want to wait patiently for the big man to arrive.

"Like I said, I'm here to see Brendan."

"Why?"

"You his bodyguard now? I thought you two didn't see eye to eye." You narrow your eyes at him. "And yet here you are in his club, looking all cosy and at home."

He scratches his elbow and then wipes his bottom lip with the back of his hand. He is a rough sort and the moves are designed to look menacing.

"We ironed out our differences years ago. We're mates now."

"That so?"

He nods, jutting his chin at you.

Defiant eyes.

"He is not here."

"I'll wait."

You stare off.

He blinks first and says, "You be waiting a long time. He is not coming tonight."

This guy has balls. There isn't a hint of fear in his countenance.

"Brendan's colleague, Nicola, said he would be here when I bumped into her earlier at _VIBE_." You point at him.

"I saw her _earlier_." He says slowly as if distrusting you. "She didn't say."

"Women. Always with secrets."

He shakes his head. "Whatever. Bren has had a change of plans. Shit happens. Sorry."

His apology sounds like a _fuck you_.

You put your hand on his shoulder suddenly. He flinches away from you and you realise that the cool customer attitude is just an act.

You smirk. "Don't be sorry. Do me a favour and tell Brendan that I am looking for him, will you? I just want to talk."

"What if I don't?"

You smile coldly. "You'd be making a very big mistake."

You turn to leave and shout over your shoulder. "I'm at the O'Callaghan, by the way."

xo

You decide to have your supper in the hotel restaurant in case Brendan decides to pay you a visit tonight. You take a corner table and work your way through a three course meal and a bottle of wine. You blow out the candle flickering between you and the empty seat in front of you.

Fucking candles.

Sitting here alone reminds you of a time whe you didn't sit alone for dinner. It makes you think of a brunette. A long haired, gobby brunette with a cute round arse and great legs. Maybe a little more rack would have been nice but still, she was near perfect when you put all the elements together. Smart little cookie too.

Six years have passed since you saw her. Brendan isn't the only one you have been tracking over the years.

You figure you may as well have company while you have your after meal coffee so you pick up your phone and look for a number that has been in your phone for years without use.

It probably doesn't work anymore, anyway.

"Hello?"

You automatically smile when you hear her voice.

"Hi." You reply.

"Who's this?"

You grin. "Don't you recognise the voice of an ex when you hear it..."

"Warren."

"Bingo."

The line goes dead.

Bitch ended your call.

You ring her again.

She answers almost straight away in that clipped tone of hers. "I don't have anything to say to you."

She puts the phone down again and you are reminded of how feisty she was.

You call again and the minute she picks up she says,

"Take the hint."

And she puts the phone down.

She answered.

Again.

That's good.

She isn't completely ignoring you. She is intrigued. Curious.

When she picks up for the third time you say something designed to keep her on the line.

"I've heard that you are a stylist to the stars now."

Flattery always worked on Mitzeee. The truth is you read that she helped style a couple of B-list celebrities. They made a few celebrity magazines' worst dressed lists.

You can almost see her hair flick, the backwards tilt of her head, the sniff and the wriggle of her nose.

"Who told you?"

"I read an article in a Chester paper. Congratulations, Mitz."

She sniffs.

"I'm dead happy for you."

"Only my dearest friends call me that now." She says sharply. "It's Anne to you."

"I miss you."

She groans. "Wait. Where's my sick bowl? If that's all then I've got some packing to get back to."

"I mean it."

And you do. Sort of. It is all flooding back now. You had a good run, you and her. How you felt for her reached depths that you hadn't reached even with Louise. You had common ground. Mitzeee could empathise with your working class background. She was a grafter. Shrewd and clever.

You had something good going before Brendan banished you out of the country.

"Are you moving house?" You say.

"Huh?"

"You said you are packing."

"You know what, Warren; I am not having a chit chat with you. You are nothing but empty promises and lies. _I love you, baby. Let's build a life together. I'll get out of doing shady business. I'll stop keeping secrets. It's just you and me. _ It was all bullshit."

Bloody hell. She is starting to sound like Louise and look what happened to her...

You know that there were times back when you were together that Mitz expressed her dissatisfaction at your caginess, secrecy and dodgy dealings but you thought she would understood where you were coming from in the end. You were building a nest egg for both of you to enjoy. The £50,000 was part of that. You had planned to build up enough funds to afford yourselves a comfortable life. Only then were you prepared to get on the straight and narrow.

Ditch the bad and embrace the good.

You would. Eventually.

She just needed to be patient.

"You left without as much as a goodbye." She says quietly. "You and Brendan were like peas in a pod in that respect. Dumping and leaving. See, you did have something in common. You were both assholes."

You don't argue her point. She'll only bite your head off. "I was thinking that we could catch up."

She laughs like you have made the best joke ever. "I'm sorry. Did you hear the part where I called you an asshole?"

"I could probably fly out to Hollyoaks the day after tomorrow." You say. "When I'm done here."

"You're more than welcome. I'm going to Spain tomorrow for a long weekend, so."

"Oh yeah? Who with? What's the occasion?"

"None of your business. Where have you been for the last six years?"

"The States. Boston."

"Why?"

"Change of scenery."

"There were rumours that you were involved in Ste's kidnapping what with the suddenness and timing of your departure. It's the kind of thing that makes a man look guilty."

"I didn't do it. Why would I?"

"Then Brendan left and people started pointing the finger of blame at him."

"He didn't. He wouldn't."

"Ste never thought he did. He wouldn't hear it and the cops found no evidence." She sighs. "And I'm with Ste. Brendan is a lot of things but I draw the line there. He could never have done that to weasel-face. Never in a million years. He loved that boy in his own warped kind of way. Or at least I thought he did until he split."

"Some crimes remain unsolved."

"I don't understand _why_. Why did it happen to Ste of all people?"

You clear your throat and hope that it doesn't come across as an admission of guilt. "Sometimes things don't make sense."

"Like this phone call." She says."Why are you calling, Warren?"

"I was lonely and I thought of you. I'm having supper alone at a restaurant... in Dublin."

You drop the location in deliberately.

Mitzeee baits. "Brendan's in Dublin."

"I know. That's who I'm here to see."

"I didn't know you were in touch. You never saw eye to eye."

"I'd like to think we've both grown up." You say.

"Pete says he owns a couple of successful night clubs out there. Hangs out with his kids. Still the eternal bachelor sawing his wild oats though. I'm not sure how grown up that is."

"Is that what Pete's saying?" You ask. "They talk?"

"You'd have to ask Pete. I try not to waste my breath talking about Brendan."

"I read somewhere that he keeps getting papped with guys hanging out at gay bars."

"You've been reading a lot." She says sarcastically.

"I'm just saying times have changed. The guy is obviously more comfortable with his sexuality. Who knew we would see the day. Maybe he and rat-boy would have-"

"He was fine about being gay in Hollyoaks in the end not that you would have noticed. Not that it matters."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"For Ste. Their relationship ending had nothing to do with Brendan being a closet case and everything to do with him being an insensitive and unsupportive prick when Ste got hurt. Guess that's something you didn't read. Brendan left Hollyoaks while Ste was still in hospital." She says.

"Whatever, Ste's moved on. He's engaged to be married to one heck of a great guy. And soon they'll be starting a new chapter in their lives..."

While Mitzeee drones on things slot into place in your mind.

You read about Ste getting engaged in that food review for his bistro _PECKISH!_

At the time you were more caught up by the realisation that the start up money he used for his eatery came from the £50,000 Brendan had owed you.

'_... a rather nice looking tall man enters and approaches us. Hay introduces him as his fiancé and for the first time I notice the tell-tale ring on his finger as they hold hands._

_He is shy in his confession, 'Martín is my fiancé. He is finally making an honest man of me!'_

Martin= English.

Martín= Spanish.

The acute accent over the eye can't be a typo.

You tune back into Mitzeee's rant.

"... And I hope you have learned how much it hurts to be lied to, kept in the dark and treated like shit. I hope you have had a good long look in the mirror and realised that people will hit back if they are treated like scum."

You don't get her anger. You wish you could tell her about the £50,000 and how it was the foundation of the fortune you planned to amass for both of you but you can't. You are six years too late and there are more pressing matters.

"Did you say you are off to Spain?"

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"Ste's bloke is Spanish, isn't he?" You press on with your line of enquiry.

"This is relevant how exactly?"

You grin and say, "It's been nice chatting, Mitz. Sorry. Anne."

You end the call and kiss your phone because you are pretty certain your ex has just admitted that she is attending Rat-boy's wedding to some Spanish guy in Spain over the weekend.

Today is Thursday.

So Brendan killed two men and gave £50K to his ex in a presumed act of love and yet Ste is about to move on and 'start a new chapter in his life' with another bloke in a few days time.

This information is priceless. You shall relish telling Brendan.

To celebrate you order a second dessert.

XOXO

_**Six Years Ago...**_

It's Friday late morning. You are in the office at _Chez Chez_ when you realise the time.

You have to go. There is a fair amount of prep work ahead for you before tonight. You have to get supplies for the barn, do a dry run, buy a vaporising anaesthetic drug (you have a contact who asks no questions) sort out your alibi (a quick appearance at the _SUBAR_) and then get the job done.

You quickly grab your keys and check your pockets to make sure you've got your wallet and walk out of the office into the main room.

As usual rat-boy and tache-man are within feet of each other. They aren't even interacting. They are probably just enjoying the proximity. How gay. Like now, Brendan is perched on a stool at the bar reading a newspaper while Ste and Jamil wash and dry glasses, respectively.

As Ste leans over the sink you catch a flash of a gold chain and a cross. Brendan's crucifix. You never noticed the change of ownership before today but sure enough Brendan's neck is free of accessories.

You briskly walk across the dance floor towards the stairs and tell Brendan. "Hey, you're on your own tonight."

You throw him a salute.

Brendan asks, "Where are you going?"

He doesn't bother looking up from his paper_._

"Meeting up with Mitzeee then I've got a couple of appointments in Chester. I'll be back in the morning."

He glances at you. "It's Friday. I need you here. The place is going to be heaving."

"I've sorted it. You'll have Jacqui, Rhys and Ste working behind the bar."

You glance over at his boyfriend. You know that his ears are locked on your conversation even though his hands work furiously through the soupy suds in the basin. Ste has been watching you closely for weeks now. It is as if he knows that there is trouble on the horizon.

Poor lad. He has no way of knowing he is at the centre of what is to come. Never mind. He will be back to his normal life within three days as long as Brendan plays nice.

Brendan looks over at Ste and then at you. His low tone belies his disapproval. "You can't expect him to work for fifteen straight hours."

"It's okay, Bren. I asked Warren. I need the money."

He turns to Ste in disbelief. "It's not okay. Jesus, Stephen, I told you I'd help you out if you needed. You're going to work yourself into an early grave."

Fucking hell. They are like a proper couple.

"I could do it if there's a problem." Jamil says helpfully.

"Thanks, Jamil, but it's fine." Ste replies then turns to Brendan.

He gives tache-man a small smile that has a dollop of pride, a splash of smugness and (shitting hell) a truck load of tenderness.

"And I won't die from a bit of extra work, Bren, but like thanks...for caring."

Brendan rolls his eyes heavenward.

The lad gives Brendan a cheeky wink then gets back to his washing up.

"Great. That's that then." You say and slap your hands together decisively.

Brendan stares at Stephen, clearly not happy with the arrangement, but he mutters.

"Looks like it."

"Good." You raise your hand in a wave and head down the stairs. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow."

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

It's Friday early morning. You have been lounging in your hotel bed with little to no sleep for the better part of the night so the wakeup call from reception at six am followed by the mistaken room service of a full English breakfast half an hour later seriously piss you off.

When your hotel room phone starts ringing at exactly seven thirty you groan. If this is another unnecessary interruption you are going to kick up an almighty fuss with management and then give a shitty review of the hotel online when you leave.

"Hello." You mutter.

"Mr Fox. This is reception calling. Your taxi has arrived."

You feel your blood begin to boil. "I didn't order a taxi."

"No. Mr Brady did, sir. I believe you have a meeting with him this morning."

You sit bolt upright. "Mr Brady?"

"Yes, sir."

You are wide awake suddenly. "Did he order the wakeup call and breakfast too?"

"He couldn't have, sir. Only you could have done that from your room or reception."

_He is fucking playing games with me. He is already trying to establish his authority. Does that mean he was here at the hotel? How the fuck did he do that? _

You release a forced laugh. "Oh yeah. Must have forgotten." You take a whiff of your armpits. You'll need to take a quick shower before you go. "I'll be down in fifteen minutes."

_Let's rock and roll._

"Very well, sir."


	28. The Reunion Brendan 6

_**Six years ago...**_

You are in the middle of a workout doing sit ups in the living room. A hundred more brisk reps and then it's onto push ups. You have to put the time in now that you are older. You have never been over pumped but the muscle tone you took for granted as a young man requires more effort to maintain now that you're thirty-four. And you want to maintain it. For you. For him...

The doorbell rings and you jump to your feet nimbly and wipe your brow with a bath towel as you jog to your main door.

It's Amy. You let her in with a measure of apprehension.

Strange. You rarely find yourself in her company alone without Stephen or Peter around.

She smiles at you unreservedly and it seems to lack an agenda so you smile back and silently lead her to the kitchen area where she takes a seat uninvited.

You put the kettle on and turn to face her while it boils.

Your arms are crossed protectively over your chest.

"Nice blouse." You say to break the quiet.

"Thanks." She continues to grin until it becomes unnerving. She stares at your sweaty forehead. "Have you been working out?"

You flex a bicep at her. "Guilty."

When the water is boiled you pour it over a strainer containing free tea leaves into a teacup. Black. No sugar. That's how she takes it. You place the cup onto a saucer, slide it over to her. You pour yourself a glass of water and take a seat.

"Stephen isn't here." You say as you down your drink.

"I know. I came to see you." She takes a sip and sighs. "You make a better cuppa than Pete but don't tell him that."

She winks.

"How come that compliment feels like honey on a fly trap?" You ask cautiously. "I'd be the fly, by the way."

She suddenly gets up and rounds the table to fling her arms around you in a hug that is determined and heartfelt. She gives it an extra tight squeeze with her slim arms and then pulls away and emits a mini-squeal. Then she lays a wet kiss on your forehead.

"Ew! Sweaty!" She grimaces then smiles.

"What was that for?" You ask, feeling assaulted.

"Ste told me! Congratulations!" She takes to her seat once again, thank goodness.

"For what?"

"You asked him to move in with you yesterday, dummy."

So he didn't keep it a secret.

"Yeah, well. He leaves half his shit here already anyway."

In view is a pair of his shoes near the landing and his jug-sized 'special' tea mug on the mantel, cleaned but banned by you from the kitchen cupboard where the tea set lives. You haven't been able to convert him to the proper way of taking his tea despite every effort on your part.

Amy points at a throw on the couch.

"That's his." She comments.

You walk over to it and pick it up. It's a tatty thing that you protested against when he first brought it over. A garish red and black chequered pattern. But when he slipped under it for the first time bringing it right up to his chin and then draped his legs over yours, while you both watched late night telly after a shift at the club, you forgot about how crap it looked. Before you knew it, it became a regular feature of your living area.

"He brought it over because he thinks the flat's cold at night. It's his feet. They turn to ice blocks."

She nods, hiding her mouth behind her cup before a sip. "It's sweet when you talk about him."

"Christ." You groan.

"When is he moving in then?"

"Next week. His choice."

He wouldn't move in with you straight away because he wanted to squeeze every last paid pound out of his council house.

"After the weekend?"

You nod.

"We should celebrate. Like a moving in party or something." Her expression becomes sombre. "You've lucked out with Ste. He adores you."

After a moment you reply, "If that's a warning, I don't need one. I'm not going to fuck this up, Amy."

"I believe that you don't intend to. I know that you care for him loads." She nods slowly and thoughtfully as if she is thinking something through. "Do you reckon you'll ever get married?"

Wowa! Where did that come from?

Living together is one thing. Practical need. Convenience.

But marriage?

She has got to be kidding. Gay. Straight. It doesn't matter. It's a pile of shit. You just need to look around you to see proof of that. Your parents. Your friends. Your own.

"Stephen and I. Getting married?" You say slowly.

"Yes. Exchanging vows and rings. The whole bit. How amazing would that be?"

"Maybe to eejits who haven't got a clue that marriage has its foundations in greed, ownership of women and propagating the male lineage and not love and the sealing of commitment."

Her voice is small when she declares, "So I guess you won't be congratulating me or your best friend then."

That is when you notice the new sparkling ring on her finger as her hand shakily places her empty teacup on the table.

"Pete proposed last night... and I said yes." She says. Her voice is trembling. "I told him I'd let you know as a symbol of good faith."

Shit.

Her eyes go red as she stands up and briskly heads for the door. You feel like a right dick so you walk after her.

"Amy! I am happy for you."

You stop at the threshold of your apartment once she walks through it.

She turns to face you angrily.

"Yeah right."

"I am. Honest. Look, you and Pete, it's adorable. It's the ceremony and the institution I have a problem with."

"I think marriage is beautiful, Bren. It will make what I feel for your best friend formal and yeah, maybe I want to have my big fairytale day."

You lean on the door.

"Does Ste know what you think about it? Getting married?" She asks. "Because I think he is a bit of an 'eejit' like me. Stuff like this... heartfelt gestures of love..." She shows you her ring. "... Get us both giddy."

She slams the door in your face and you stand there immobile.

You are surprised when she opens it again and says, "I'll see you at the pub tonight. I don't want to make this awkward."

She closes the door more softly this time and you lock it to make sure she doesn't come back again. You have had enough of her and her opinions for a day. She can't judge what Stephen may or may not think.

He has never told you he wants that traditional shit. Wedding cakes. White tuxedos. Platinum bands. Flower arrangements.

You throw your towel back onto the floor and spread it out. You lie on your back and get back to the sit ups you were doing before. You need to work the stress she has generated out so you plan to keep going until you hit exhaustion.

Two hundred and thirty-seven. Two hundred and thirty-eight. Two hundred and thirty-nine. Two hundred and forty...

XOXO

_**Present Day (One month)...**_

You have somewhere to be this morning and yet you're not feeling too clever. It's always the same after a dose of chemo. Your stomach rejects anything that touches it including its own juices. The result has been several trips between bed and toilet through the night.

You are slumped by the toilet bowl in the bathroom, hugging its sides and waiting for the latest wave of nausea to settle.

You force yourself to stand up eventually and get into the shower where you let a hot jet of water clean you passively while your body slumps against the welcome cool tiles. When you get out you brush your teeth, gurgle some mouth wash and pop a couple of tablets into your mouth. A prescribed anti-sickness and multivitamin.

You run your hand over your shaved head and smooth face. It's a reminder that you are a shell of your former self.

"Who the fuck are you?" You sneer at your reflection but you haven't got time to linger.

It's eight am and you are running late.

You get dressed quickly into a t-shirt, hoodie and jeans. You grab the black ski hat that has been your faithful friend of late and put it on. Then you walk to the front door making sure you have your keys, phone and wallet on you.

As you lock the door you make a quick call.

"Hey, Patrick... I'm on my way, buddy... Running a little late... Don't start without me..."

XOXO

_**Six years ago...**_

You are in a lock-in at the _Dog in the Pond_ to celebrate Lynsey's new staff nurse job at Chester Royal. It is two am and there is no sign that the party is coming to an end.

You are ready to leave though. It would be good if Stephen was too but it looks like he plans to stay until he is kicked out so you slump back in your chair with an arm casually resting over the backrest of his as you look at the people sat around your table.

Amy has been frosty with you after your confrontation at your flat in the morning but you have kept up appearances for the sake of Peter and Stephen.

Despite that there is cause for celebration all round. Lyns has her new job. Amy and Pete have their engagement. Chez has been awarded a first for her second year of her Masters in Business. And you and Stephen? Everyone seems beside themselves with joy that you are moving in together.

You'd think the two of you had discovered the cure to cancer!

Mitzeee has something to complain about though. She barrelled into the pub a few minutes ago and has taken over conversation at the table by moaning about Warren as she always does.

"He never listens to me. It's like he thinks I'm stupid or something!"

"Leave him." You say bluntly. "Spare us all."

Stephen gives you an admonishing look which you ignore. "You can do so much better than him, Mitz." He says gently.

"I don't know. He isn't a bad person. He just makes bad choices." She reasons.

You glance sideways at Stephen. You are tired of listening to yet another instalment of the Mitzeee and Warren drama so you whisper in his ear,

"Let's go."

But he pushes you away with a small smile, "Not before I tell Ames what happened the other night with Ted."

"Who's Ted?" Amy asks.

"One of our regulars at the club." Stephen says animatedly. "He were piss drunk, yeah, so I said, 'Ted, this is your last one. I'm not serving you anymore after this.' And he started throwing abuse at me. He goes 'you fucking cunt' to me. Can you believe that? So I go, 'Oi, I am not here to be talked to like that!' And he goes, 'What are you going to do about it?' The cheeky git! So I told him to leave."

Amy says. "He could have thumped you!"

"Nah." Stephen grins at her and then takes a huge gulp out of his nearly empty third pint of lager.

Third.

The tipping point.

Anymore and he'll be all over the shop. You keep your eyes on him.

"He is all bark and no bite, Ames. I got security to chuck him out and Brendan barred him from the club and told him not to speak to me like that. What did you say again, Bren?"

His hand settles on your lap and he grins at you.

"I said that if he didn't want his face to be introduced to my fist he had to apologise to Stephen and then leave." You reply.

Stephen's pupils are dilated and his lids are heavy as he looks down at your lips and licks his own.

Does he even realise that he provokes you by doing that?

In fact, is this his third or fourth pint? Because he is behaving like it might be his fourth.

"My hero!" He sing-songs at you.

It's his fourth.

Definitely.

You prise the pint glass out of his hand and put it down.

Amy gives you a small grin. "So you do have a heart somewhere there. It's good of you to remind me of the fact."

Those are the first words she has said to you tonight. She must be thawing.

You smile at her. "I have my moments."

"You should show them more often. Drop the front." She says. Her words might be harsh but her eyes are kind.

You automatically drape your arm over Stephen's shoulder and run your fingers over his upper arm. It takes a moment for you to realise that your company is looking at the two of you with stupid grins on their faces.

"What?" You say.

"Nothing!" They all say simultaneously but you know that your sister, Lyns, Amy, Mitzeee and Pete are swallowing their surprise at your public display of affection. You don't know what pisses you off most; the fact that they are acting like twats, that Stephen is looking like the cat that got the cream or that you don't give a fuck.

"They say that you are as young as the person you feel." Chez grins.

They all start giggling like a bunch of kids.

"That makes you twenty-three doesn't it, Bren." Peter says.

"Twenty-one." Stephen corrects.

"Jesus, you're a cradle snatcher!" Lyns says in mock horror.

"Shurrup! He isn't!" Stephen says, blushing.

"I read somewhere that men who date younger live longer." Chez says.

"So you're set for life." Pete tells you with a grin.

You scowl. For life? Stephen is for 'right now'. It just so happens that 'right now' has been going on for two years and counting and you haven't got plans to end it any time soon.

Stephen bops to the music and his body moves in his chair.

Great.

He is officially next level; tipsy with a capital T.

"You got ants in your pants?" You ask him.

"I want to dance." He whispers, shuffling his chair closer to yours.

You inhale his aftershave and feel the heat of his body against yours.

_I want to kiss you_.

He leans in as if reading your mind.

Luckily Mitzeee's whiney tale of woe drills into your brain and prevents you from acting like a dick with no control. You clear your throat and move away.

"I need to take a leak." You caress his cheek briefly then stand up. "Want to go after?"

"To take a leak?"

"To get out of here. To have our own private dance."

When did you become so fucking cheesy?

He grins. "My place or yours?"

"Mine."

You correct yourself because after the weekend all will change.

"I mean ours."

His smile practically splits his face.

"Yeah. Definitely."

XOXO

_**Present Day (One month)...**_

You walk into the same café that you first met Nikki in. It is empty except for two staff members and Paddy who is sitting alone at the corner table you and your friends appropriate whenever you come. He has a hot drink in front of him already.

"Morning." You say as you walk up to him. "Place is unusually quiet today."

"You look like shit, mate. You alright?" Paddy says, ignoring your small talk.

You hate the concern in his voice.

You take a seat and raise a finger to indicate the waiter to come take your order.

"Fucking nausea." You explain. "I've been up all night."

"Can't the doctors give you something for that? An anti-sickness or something?"

"I've got some. Can't keep them down. I need an anti-sickness tab to take my anti-sickness tabs."

You order bottled water.

"Fucking cancer." He says, ever the straight shooter. "I'll beat it up for you if you want. Like the good ol' days."

"The cancer?" You smile at his earnestness. "Gotta warn you, it won't go down without a fight."

"It hasn't met my right hook yet."

"True."

"You'll be okay, Bren." He says firmly. "You know I've got you."

"So you want to tell me what we are doing here when you are supposed to be at work?" You ask.

"No. Nikki just called me this morning and told me that she wanted to meet the two of us here for breakfast. That's why I called you. Did she tell you Warren was in town?"

"Yes. She came to the hospital yesterday and told me that he turned up at _VIBE_ looking for me."

"He came at _THE E_ last night. He is staying at the _O'Callaghan Davenport_. We can go find him after this if you want."

That is where Stephen stayed with Martin when he was here over a month ago. You try to not think of your encounter with him in his hotel room; your joint declarations of love, the aborted sexual encounter, your false confessions and how you left him once again.

"Yes." You say.

"He said Nikki had told him you'd be at the club." He says.

"She didn't tell me he was going to be at _THE E_. What's she playing at?"

"Maybe she forgot."

"Niks never forgets." You say. "Either Warren's lying or she is up to something."

Paddy's eyes are calculating. He rubs his chin, thoughtfully. "She was acting strange, you know. Earlier in the afternoon she came round to the garage and persuaded me to finish early so we could catch up. She drove us to _The E_ and tried loading me up with booze. She was asking all sorts of questions."

"Like what?"

"Stuff about the past. You know. Hollyoaks. You, me and Pete. You and your sister. _Chez Chez._ You and Ste. Your relationship. Your break up. She mentioned unfinished business between you and Warren being the reason for him being here."

He shrugs uncomprehendingly. You feel a wave of nausea that isn't all the result of drug side effect.

"Did you ask her why she wanted to know?"

"No. She has asked before, Bren, although maybe not in as much detail. We all have. We all know you and at the same time we don't. So anyway, I told her the truth. That I had no idea what happened between you and Ste. And I knew nothing about 'unfinished business' between you and Warren. So she left at about seven, in the end, and put Billy in charge saying that she had to check on _VIBE._"

He looks at the café door. "Where is she anyway?"

You look at the time. Eight-thirty.

"Do you think breakfast has anything to do with Warren being in town?"

"It better not be. I told her to stay away from him." You pick up your phone. "I'll give her a ring."

"It's okay. I just spoke to her before you came. She says she is on her way."

"Fine." You suppress a surge of sickness with another sip of water.

"Ey, while we are waiting can I ask you something?" Paddy leans over and lowers his voice.

That's your cue to be very afraid.

Paddy is about to share.

Although he has only officially been out for a few months you have known he was gay for seven years. Now that he is 'out' he comes to you for advice and you wish he was back 'in'. You don't know how you became his 'gay Yoda' but he won't let you go even though you have been distinctly unhelpful as his guide into all things gay. You suspect that he already knows more about the 'culture' and 'community' in five months than you have gleaned since you edged out of the closet years ago.

"I fooled around with Billy a couple of days ago." He confesses.

"Bouncer Billy at _THE E_?"

"He is acting manager on your behalf. You know that."

"What did I tell you about sleeping with my staff?"

"I thought that only applied to the girls." He gives you a cocky grin.

You scowl at him. "Didn't even know Billy-boy liked guys."

"He does. Anyway it was just a hand job in the office."

"You're an animal."

"He said I was a hunk."

You raise an eyebrow. "Why are we talking about this? Where's the question?"

"Apparently there are categories based on physical appearances. Bears, daddies, twinks, cubs, hunks, chubs. There are others but I can't remember them now."

"What are you going on about?"

"Physical pigeonholing of gay men. I don't know what you'd be. A daddy?"

"Fuck off."

"Stephen would be a twink."

The instant he says that he regrets his words. Maybe it is the wild look in your eyes. There is a flood of memories that rushes though your brain at hearing your ex's name.

"Sorry." He mumbles.

"What's a twink?" You blurt out.

"Slender build. Not much body hair. Youthful. Beautiful." He tentatively looks at you. "Usually... uh, receptive, if you know what I mean."

He goes red.

"I am going to ignore that you just said that." You say.

"Fair enough."

He smiles. "Anyway, the whole thing is like speaking another language. I don't fit into gay culture."

"Who says you have to? Don't put yourself into a box, Paddy. Not the blue collar box. Not the gay box. Not the former convict box. Never. You are better than that. It is simple enough." You jab at his chest with two fingers. "You like someone." Jab. "They make you feel good." Jab. "You go for it."

"Easier said than done."

"I don't know. The doing is pretty easy." You give him a sly grin.

"Yeah, well."

"Yeah, well what?"

"If it's so easy why haven't you settled down." He hesitates before saying, "You haven't had a steady for a long time."

"What is this, the 1950s? Who says 'steady'?"

"That's my question for you, Bren. What if I want more than a quick hand job?"

"Like what?"

"What if I don't want to screw around? What if I want more? The dating scene seems pretty soulless sometimes. The picking up and letting go. The superficiality."

You feel a twitch go off in your cheek. A nervous tick. "I'm fine with not settling down. Why get locked in to one person?"

You square your jaw to put conviction into your statement.

"Don't you want someone special in your life?" Paddy asks you. "I know I do."

There is an odd look in his eyes when he looks at you but you haven't got time to interpret it because the door to the cafe opens and closes.

Both of you turn around.

You shouldn't be as surprised by who you see as you are.

XOXO

_**Six years ago...**_

You practically sprint out of _The Dog_. The minute you unlock the door to your flat Stephen pushes it open and you both tumble inside. He is onto you like a leech and you shed your clothes as you make your way up to your room tangled up in each other.

Halfway up, he impatiently makes a grab for your dick and tries to push you down onto the stairs.

"Not here." You force out reluctantly as you drag him up. In his uninhibited, tipsy state, you have visions of him tumbling down and hurting himself.

By the time you hit the landing you are both naked. Between kisses and gropes he whispers heatedly and drunkenly.

"Oh wow, you are so hot, Brendan!"

"My head is spinning."

"Yeah, there! Fuck!"

"Did we say bye to everyone? I didn't wave to Doug, I think."

"That feels so good..."

You fall into your room and he goes straight to your side table. He picks up the engraved wooden box you use to keep your condoms, tips the contents onto the bed and jumps onto them in drunken merriment before spreading them around by writhing over them with his naked body.

"Come on, Bren. Let's do it."

Four. Fucking. Pints. And. This. Is. What. You. Get.

You swear he has that gene that makes people minimally tolerant to booze.

Still you've got to smile at his attempt at seduction.

"We won't need all of those." You point at the array of sheaths.

"We might." He purrs and crawls to the edge of the bed towards you.

You lift an eyebrow. "I am only one man, Stephen."

He picks a couple of condoms up and shows them to you. He drops one and that is apparently hilariously funny.

"Let's try." He looks at the side table. "Where's the lube?"

"We run out last time."

He blushes. "Oh yeah."

"I bought some more." You lean over to him to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. "Wait here. I'll get it... and don't fall asleep."

"Why would I fall asleep?" He mumbles while settling into your bed.

"No reason." _Because I know how you get with four pints in you. _

You walk your erection to the bathroom. While you are there you brush your teeth and yeah maybe flex a muscle or two in the mirror.

Then you freeze and look closer at your reflection. The man looking back at you looks like the same man you have seen for years, except for the crow's feet around your eyes but you know he is different on the inside.

This man in the mirror has let someone take hold of his life and turn it upside down; the mousy haired skinny barman that is waiting for you next door.

You want him more than anything you have ever wanted in your life. You can't get enough of Stephen. You can even live with his four pint intolerance and pointless chat.

When did that happen?

You pick up a new bottle of lube from the bathroom cabinet.

When you get back into the room Stephen's snoring greets you.

XOXO

_**Present day (One month)...**_

You and Paddy stand up simultaneously and face the café door.

"What the fuck?" He says.

You couldn't agree more.

Nicola is with Warren. Side by side.

You look between the two of them. "You okay, Niks?"

You take a step closer to her. Warren had better not hurt her in anyway.

"I'm fine." She says sombrely as she walks up to you.

She pulls you both into a hug. You keep your eyes trained on Warren over your friend's shoulder in case he has any ideas about bolting.

You are surprised to notice that Nicola is wearing what she wore to the hospital yesterday. That is not like her. There must have been something extremely pressing to mean she hasn't changed. From the bags under her eyes you wonder whether she slept at all last night.

"Alright, Brendan? Long time no see." Warren says, hands clasped together in front of him.

You ignore him and ask your business partner, "Can you tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"I'll explain the detail later. I tried to find out what your '_friend'_ here was doing in town. Why he came to find you." She says. "But there is something else I found out that I thought you should know. I figured Warren should tell you."

You take in her set features. There is no fear in her eyes but there is controlled anger. You assume it is directed at Warren.

Niks is the one in control here. She holds the power. She must have spent hours investigating your archenemy and found out something that puts her clearly in the driver's seat.

Warren hasn't even tried to run even though he has a clear shot of the door.

You have many questions. What the fuck is Warren doing in Dublin? What does Nicola know? How did she find out? How come Warren is eating out of the palm of her hand? How did she get him to come to the cafe?

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You ask him. "I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke that I never wanted to see you again."

"You never wanted me to set foot in the UK again. We are in Ireland. Doesn't count." He says cockily. "I came because I know we had a, how shall I put it, disagreement a few years ago. I wanted to wipe the slate clean. Move on and move back home."

"No." You say forcefully.

He cocks his head at you. "You look different, Brendan. You've lost weight." He narrows his eyes as he inspects you. "You've ditched the 'tache."

You bring your hat further down your head to make sure it is completely covered up. "2017, Baby. I'm moving with the times. I can see you are still struggling with your waistline."

"At least I don't look like I've been to a starvation camp."

You look down at yourself. There is something to be said about lack of insight. You know you have lost weight. You aren't fully conscious of how that must look to those who haven't seen you for some time.

You must look worryingly thin.

"Stop stalling, Warren, and tell Brendan what happened." Niks says harshly.

"Fine." The big man takes a deep breath in and then smiles. It is sinister and doesn't reach his eyes. "Before I do I just wanted to say how I, for one, think it is great that two gay men feel they can stand proudly in front of the world and say, 'I am what I am and we love each other. Deal with it'."

Paddy sneers at him. "Brendan and me aren't together."

Warren raises an eyebrow at Paddy. "Fuck me, you're gay too? What is this? An epidemic? Anyway, congratulations, I guess, but I wasn't talking about you and Brendan."

"Don't." Nicola warns him.

His grin broadens. "Or what?"

"Who are you talking about?" You ask.

"It's not important." Niks says quickly.

Warren looks like he is enjoying himself. "I was referring to Ste and his fiancé, Martin, getting married tomorrow in Spain. Apparently it's legal there. They've got all their family and closest friends going."

"That's enough, Warren!" Niks shouts angrily. She starts with a barrage of abuse at him but you don't hear it.

All you hear is white noise and Warren's words echoing in your brain getting louder and louder. Screaming at you.

You knew Stephen was engaged. You know who to but this has made it all too real and inevitable.

The wedding is actually going to happen. Not sometime in the amorphous future that never comes but tomorrow.

Things are not going to be like in the past where he dumped Noah to come back to you or you coaxed him back after one of your break ups. This time he is making that commitment with someone he has been with for five years, who he has confessed to being deeply in love with and with whom he shares a complete life.

Even though six years have passed since Stephen was yours, it is only now that you feel like you are losing him for good.

"Brendan." Nicola's voice breaks through the fog in your mind.

You blink, releasing tears down you cheeks. You wipe them briskly and sniff.

_Stiff upper lip, Brady. _

_Atta boy._

You square up and jut your lower jaw out like Warren's news hasn't cut you up.

"Yep." You say.

"I think you can get Stephen back." She says softly.

"Haven't you heard what I have said? I don't want him back."

"You're lying." She says. "I know about everything. I know that you and Ste were doing great in your relationship and he was going to move in with you. I know about how the kidnapping changed everything. That Warren did it because he thought you took his £50,000. I know that it all went wrong and Stephen got hurt and he nearly died. I know you told Warren to leave and never come back. I know that you left Stephen to come back to Dublin. Knowing you I can guess it is because you felt guilty about what had happened to him. You gave him £50,000 to start a new life pretending it was inheritance money. I know that his business is built on that money."

"What?" Paddy says in surprise. "How the-" He looks at you. "Is this true?"

_Thanks, Nicola. Thanks a fucking bunch._

She takes your hand and continues. "I think you still love Ste. I think you haven't left him in your past because you carry a picture of him with you wherever you go and his crucifix is still around your neck."

You touch it.

"_I_ gave it to _him._ He gave it back."

"Daddy-bear, I brought Warren here because I found something out. I wanted him to apologise to you for getting it wrong and messing with you and Ste's lives. I wanted him to be the one to tell you who took his £50,000."

XOXO

_**Six years ago...**_

You wake up to feel him right up next you with your hand wedged under him.

You tug your arm and he stirs sleepily.

"Morning." You say as you shake your dead limb trying to get the circulation back into it. You brush his hair off his forehead when the tingling disappears. "Mr. Sleepy."

He mumbles something incoherent back then an eye pops open and he looks at you sheepishly through his fan of lashes.

"I fell asleep on you, didn't I?"

He is all tousled hair, flushed dewy skin, swollen lips and bitter breath.

Morning Stephen.

Fuckable Stephen.

You like him like this; warm, heavy and compliant against you.

"I think I was tired."

You smile. "I think you were drunk."

"I'm a right light weight, me."

You slowly trace the contours of his body, feeling the goose bumps rise up under your fingertips. "Yeah."

He sluggishly plays around with the crucifix resting on your chest. "I like this. But, like, you never take it off."

"Guess not." You grab his hand and measure it up against yours, palm to palm. "You interested in it?"

"I'm interested in you." He rubs his forehead against your upper lip. His voice is soft. "I can't imagine you without it. A bit like your 'tache. In the beginning I weren't so sure about it because it made you look like one of them porn stars plus it gave me 'tache rash. But now I think... yeah."

You smile because he is rambling the way he does when he is still not quite fully awake. "What kind of porn have you been watching and why wasn't I invited?"

"Mexican, I think. I weren't watching properly, though. I caught Rhys a few weeks ago when I went round to borrow some baking tins. The door was on the latch so I walked in. Jacqui wasn't there and there were sounds like 'ah' and 'ooh' coming from the telly and Rhys got embarrassed. That's when I saw the porn star 'tache on the video. Was it a present?"

"What?"

"The cross around your neck."

"It was me ma's."

"Is she religious?"

"She's Irish." You say as if that explains everything. You have never talked to Stephen about your family back home. Your older brother (who is in jail), father and biological mother. They provide a looking glass into your soul; where you come from. What you are really about. Why you are the way you are. You aren't sure you want to reveal that to Stephen. He might run a mile.

But you can't help but let him take a peek.

"I was nine; playing with friends, messing about, climbing trees. Fell out of one, broke a couple of bones and knocked myself unconscious. I got admitted to hospital. Ma put this," You touch his fingers as he touches the cross, "Around my neck while I was in a coma. When I woke up she told me that it was a good luck charm and that as long as I had it round my neck I would be safe and she would be with me."

"Do you believe that?" He whispers.

You raise an amused eyebrow at him. "I haven't fallen out of a tree since."

"I think I'd like your mum."

You kiss him when he tilts his head to look up at you to stop him from saying anything else stupid.

You love your mother but she is weak. You watched as she suffered years of verbal and physical abuse from your father. She would pray that it would get better and begged him to stay when he drunkenly told her that he was moving on with another woman, who turned out to be Cheryl's mother.

You don't want Stephen to meet her. You don't want him to know that you became the kind of man that you fought your childhood defending your mum against.

So you kiss him deeply to avoid further talk on the matter and soon he is kissing you back. He climbs over you to straddle your hips. You feel his heat all around you as his energy draws you in.

Soon this is not about shutting him up but about getting it on.

He groans as his mouth moves to your neck and then pays lip service to your body, working his way down while you comb your fingers through his hair.

You stop his advances and he looks curiously up at you.

You feel a wave of something deep in you. It feels like indigestion. A bad case of it.

He brought up your mother and now he has got you thinking.

You are unsettled. Thinking about her vulnerability has made you conscious of Stephen's once again.

He was a victim as a child and then again as a young adult due to your violence. While you know you will never lay a finger on him again in anger, how can you guarantee the same of other people around him?

What if you can't be there to make sure he is okay all the time?

You failed your mother. How can you be sure you won't fail him?

Without thinking you take off your ma's crucifix from your neck and indicate for him to lean forward.

He looks down at you hesitantly. "What are you doing?"

You fasten the clasp behind his neck and press the cross against him, just below the depression between his collar bones. The gold gleams against his lightly tanned skin.

He rolls it between his fingers and gives you a smile so pure and sincere that it bursts into your cold dark heart and lights it up.

'_He is a bit of an 'eejit' like me. Stuff like this... heartfelt gestures of love ... get us both giddy.'_

"Thank you." Stephen whispers to you.

You feel a thud in your chest and the feeling of indigestion melts away. You pull him down to trap his lips to yours. You want to consume him; never let him go.

He smiles down at you when he pulls away and rests his hands on your chest lightly.

"No one has ever given me something precious of theirs before."

"It's not worth much." You mutter.

"It's worth something to you so it's worth something to me."

You trace his cheek and lips with your thumb.

God, he is sentimental.

"I love you, Brendan."

You feel the hammering of your heart in you chest. It feels like it is going to force itself out of your chest.

What an adrenaline rush.

You grab the back of his neck and force him to you so that you share air and savour your proximity.

You can't say the words but you can show him what he means to you.

You grab his hips and glance down at his cock that is sitting at half-mast on your belly.

He looks down at you with fiery eyes.

"Looks like something's awake." You grin.

"Yeah."

You pick up one of the many scattered condom packets on the bed.

"We better get started. We have to use all these condoms, right?"

You give him a sly smile and he laughs until merriment is replaced by horniness.

You can't see this ever ending.

Why should it?


	29. The Reunion Martin 6

_**Hi Folks,**_

_**Thank you so much for your reviews. They are priceless and indescribably heartwarming. **_

_**(Chips) **_

_**xoxo**_

Today is the day before your wedding.

You have woken up in one country, wrestled with excitable kids, co-ordinated keyed up friends, flown to another country, quickly settled in at your parent's holiday villa and finalised last minute plans for the wedding tomorrow. Ste has personally made sure everything outstanding is sorted so that the day goes without a hitch... except for the getting hitched part. You are sure he has even made a call to the weather to make sure that it remains 'Warm with clear blue skies'.

You have noticed that he has clung to you more than he normally does today. A manifestation of nerves and anxiety, you think.

You hope that it has nothing to do with the call he ignored from Brendan before you left England. You tried to bring it up with him when you flew over but he shut you down.

"_I don't know why you are bringing it up, Marty. I've already forgotten all about it."_ And he gave your hand a firm squeeze and held it for the whole journey over.

It is evening time now and you are at a 'welcome-drinks-and-tapas' party that your enthusiastic aunt arranged without consulting you.

'_Martín, esas gentes __han volado __desde __Hollyoaks para tu boda.__Es lo menos __que podía hacer.'_ These people have travelled all the way from Hollyoaks for your wedding. It's the least I could do.

So rather than turning in early to get some rest in preparation for your big day, you are with family and friends at aunt Costanza's villa which happens to be only a couple of roads away from your parent's.

No one else except for Ste seems concerned that you need to get sleep at some point tonight; not your friends or your family, old and young.

It is a sweltering, humid night. Ste is chatting with your cousins near the open door that leads to the patio catching the subtle breeze. You have got yourself locked into a conversation with Michaela McQueen's older brother, John Paul, after you bumped into him when you went to fetch drinks for you and Ste.

"Ste and Mickey are good friends." You say. "Her _Chester Times_ article tripled the number of customers coming into _PECKISH!_"

"I'm sure he would have got the recognition with time." He says. "Good food speaks for itself and I've heard great things about Ste's creations. I'll be sure to go before I travel back to Ireland."

"Ireland?" Your mind immediately goes to Brendan. You take a deep breath to calm your rising anger.

"Dublin. I followed my boyfriend there ten years ago. We both graduated from Trinity. Anyway, we fell in love with the place so we decided to settle there. I heard you and Ste were in town last month. Had I known...?"

Just hearing the city's name makes you shudder.

"It was a short trip. We didn't have much time." You say quickly then change the subject. "Your name..."

"I'm named after the pope." He says sheepishly. "My mum's Catholic."

"My parents are Catholic, too." You reply.

"Let me guess. You were named after the saint of soldiers."

"Aye," You smile at him. "How did you know?"

"I dated someone who had a direct line to God for a while." He says quietly.

"Right."

"Anyway, it's nice to see that all your family is happy that you are tying the knot."

"I think it's because I am not the first to come out. My uncle, Alfonso, over there is mum's brother. He paved the path." You point at a middle aged man whose fingers are hovering over the tapas table. "I think my folks are just happy that I am not going to be an eternal bachelor like he is."

You share a grin with John Paul as he looks over at Ste.

"It's strange, you know. I went to school with him. He has changed a lot." He says.

"I've heard."

"He looks really calm. He was a bit of a car crash when he was younger. He was trouble. Guess you've had a positive influence on him."

"I can't take the credit."

"You and Ste make it look so easy." John Paul muses. "Being together."

You smirk. How funny. Perception and reality can be such different things. Little does John Paul know that you hit a seriously rocky patch just four weeks ago and that the beginning of you relationship was less than ideal.

"Every relationship has challenges. It's how your work through them that counts." You tell John Paul.

You look over at your fiancé who is now alone. He appears distracted, staring out at the greenery which has the sprinklers going and is bathed in moonlight.

He turns to look right at you as if sensing your eyes on him. He smiles then subtly indicates for you to go to him.

"Look, sorry, John-Paul, I should get back to Ste. It was nice talking to you."

You walk up to your fiancé and lean on the other side of the door frame he is leaning on, mirroring his stance.

"Alright, sexy?" You say.

"I'm shattered." He says tiredly.

"Same."

"You forgot to get me a coke." He says. "You got distracted by John Paul."

"He seems nice."

"I don't really know him. Just what Mickey told me when we were at school. He had an affair with his best friend behind both their girlfriends' backs. When it all came out he got bullied for being gay and Craig dumped him. Then he dated a priest. Then Craig begged for him to get back together."

"Sounds like a soap storyline."

"Apparently they are still together."

"They are. He just told me." You look around you. "It's ten pm. We need to get some rest."

"We could try to escape; just you and me." He raises a conspiratorial eyebrow.

"I want to live."

He rolls his eyes at you. "You're no fun."

"You don't know how single minded my aunt can get. She won't care that we are getting married tomorrow. She will kill us if we leave without her permission!"

You look him up and down; his flushed face and relaxed stance. His lithe figure; arms dropped by his sides, one ankle crossed over the other.

You can picture him as he will be tomorrow in a simple single-breasted black tuxedo cut perfectly to suit his shape. The rings on your left hands will be replaced by ones on your right in keeping with Spanish tradition.

He clears his throat and goes a bright red. "I nearly tongued her and like three other members of your family, by the way. They probably think I'm a pervert."

You chuckle. "What happened?"

"It's the kisses on the cheek, Marty. Sometimes it's two. Sometimes it's three. I go for the wrong cheek first. I've had full on lip contact with Max..." He is your cousin and best man for tomorrow. "... Auntie Costanza and your grandma!"

Ste seems genuinely distressed. How cute.

"I'm sure they loved it!" You grin then call out to your mother's mother. "Abuelita ¿He besado a mi novio en los labios?" _Have you been kissing my boyfriend on the lips?_

"What did you ask her?" Ste asks sceptically when the Spanish speakers in the room start to laugh.

Your grandmother laughs the loudest and shouts, "¡Si fuera más joven las cosas podrían haber sido diferentes, Ste!" _I__f I were younger thing might have been different, Ste!_

"Is she talking about me? Entiendo un poco." _I understand a bit_. Ste says tentatively.

"¿A sí?" You raise an amused eyebrow at him.

He grins. "Sí."

"_Vale_, what did grandma just say?"

"Something about good kisses?"

You grin. "She said that things could have been different between you if she were younger."

He smiles. "Your _abuela_ is nuts."

"My family is nuts. I thought you'd figured that out by now."

He takes your hands in his. "I like that you have like a gazillion family members."

"It wears thin sometimes."

"Maybe, but it is better than having no one." He stares up at you with clear blue eyes.

"I hate to break it to you but they are your family now too." You intertwine your fingers.

"Not until tomorrow." He grins.

"Why? Are they a deal breaker?" You curl your lips up.

"No! I like them. They make you look normal!"

"Oi!"

He tugs at you so you move closer to him, trapping him between your body and the doorframe. He drapes his arms over your shoulders and links his hands behind your neck.

"It's strange seeing our friends here in Spain under the same roof with your family."

"I know. Can you believe that we are getting married in the morning?" You say in wonder.

He looks up at you. "I know." He blinks.

His eyes close slowly under the weight of fatigue and he puts his head on your chest. You rest your forehead on his and close your eyes.

"That's a new way of sleeping."

You turn around guiltily to face your sister, Katy, and a posse of family and friends who are all looking at you.

"It's the night before the wedding." Amy informs you as if you didn't know. "You have to sleep apart."

"You're kidding right?" Ste says.

You are yanked apart by Doug and your father.

"Tradition is tradition." Your dad says merrily.

"Say goodnight to your husband-to-be, Ste." Pete says. "You are coming back with us."

"Where am _I_ staying? I have all my stuff at your place." You tell your dad.

Your father laughs. "You are staying here, son. Someone has already brought your things over."

So that's that then. There is no point in arguing so you kiss Ste and whisper against his lips,

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I'll see you in the morning."

That phrase has never meant so much because _in the morning_ you are getting married.

XOXO

The party is finally over and you are in one of your aunt's spare rooms. The bed you are lying in is more than ample but you can't seem to settle. It is partly the weather. Even in a thin t-shirt and shorts you break a spontaneous sweat. Also, adrenalin is coursing through you. You can't believe you are getting married tomorrow. Your heart thuds at the prospect. It feels surreal.

You look at your engagement ring and think of how far you have come from the commitment-phobic man you were. You could get married right now, in fact.

You close your eyes just as your phone signals a text message at around midnight.

It's from Ste.

_Come over. They r asleep. _

You grin.

_I'm on my way. I'm blaming you if I get caught, though!_

You slip into flip flops and silently head out of your aunt's house.

The walk to your parent's place takes less than ten minutes. You use your own keys to get in through the main door and then tip toe through the quiet dark house.

Your mind flashes back to the last time you holidayed here to one particular day; Ste's lazy swim in the outdoor pool while you prepared lunch, his chat, burnt soufflés, the gold ring, you on bended knee, 'yes, Martin, I will marry you', making love in the kitchen and then the living room and then the bathroom, getting sunburnt when you fell asleep in the garden afterwards.

"Hey." Ste whispers to you from the corridor that leads to the bedrooms.

You are surprised that he looks wide awake... And fidgety.

On edge.

"Hey." You whisper back and walk up to him. He is wearing a pair of dark boxer-briefs only. "You okay?"

He replies by reaching up to kiss you. He is tentative at first but then he combs his fingers through your hair and pulls you to him, parting his lips to meld them with yours.

"This feels so naughty." You whisper heatedly when you pull away between breathless pants.

He puts his index finger to his lips, silencing you, takes your hand and leads you silently to his room.

The lights are off but the floor length window-doors let in the night light giving you some visibility.

He kisses you passionately and tugs you towards the bed, lifting your shirt off you efficiently.

You release a laugh when his mouth goes to your nipple and he licks at the hard nub sending a shiver down your spine. "I thought you were tired."

He pushes you onto the bed and crawls between your bent legs.

"I want you, Marty."

He gives you the briefest of kisses and then pulls your shorts and underwear down just enough to let your dick spring free.

You gasp as he goes down on you without preamble.

"Shit, Ste!" You groan as quietly as possible as he works his magic on you. "My parents!" You mumble as you vaguely remember that they are under the same roof. Come to think of it so are his kids and his best friend.

He glances up at you from your groin. His eyes twinkle in the dim light. "We'll be quiet."

And then he gets back to pleasuring you. He knows how to work you until you feel all twitchy and oversensitive and like you need to crawl out of your skin.

He bobs his head up and down slowly, engulfing you. Then he speeds up until he needs to come up for air, gasping while he licks you up and down like a rapidly melting ice-lolly. He looks at you as his tongue darts out to worry the underside of your cock just under the head. Your toes curl in pleasure every time he does that. His hand grips you firmly jerking you off at the same time.

Your hand wonders through his hair savouring the velvety feel of his haircut. You caress over his neck and back and sit up so that you can reach further down over the covered mounds of his buttocks. You push his boxers down and cup a cheek before squeezing its firm flesh.

"Yes." He sighs and emits a low rumble when you rub against his entrance. He takes your dick down his throat again and you watch as it disappears and reappears from his mouth repeatedly. Your eyes shut to savour the sensation of warmth, suction, pressure and tightness. You bite your lower lip and thrust into him while he grinds back against your hand to encourage you to continue your pressure on his arse.

You feel an orgasm build up. He pulls off you when he senses that you are near and you groan in disappointment.

He gasps and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stares at you with glazed eyes.

"I want us to ..." He goes red all over as he lightly strokes your shaft.

He wants you to fuck him.

"Aye." You whisper.

You pull him up to you and kiss him hard, tasting your precum on him, then he turns away from you to lie on his side. You lie behind him.

You rub his butt then spit on your fingers and lube his hole up. He sighs and pushes back against the pressure then reaches back to grab your cock.

You grip his hips and back his arse up closer to you, settling your cock in the cleft of his butt cheeks. He groans and you look down at his tight and inviting entrance; twitching in anticipation. You push into him slowly, seeing the steady slide of your cock into him. You breech his tightness and circle your arm around his waist to pull him back into you until you are fully seated in him.

He shudders and melts back into you. That never gets old. The way he feels around you. The way he settles into your arms. The filthy sound of ecstasy as if you have just done the best thing to him. Ever.

He lifts one leg up in the air to allow you room to reach for his dick. He is hard and you jerk him off while thrusting into him. His sounds are a chorus of appreciation.

"Shush." You whisper into his ear.

He whimpers and buries his face into a pillow, biting it while he pushes back to you to match your thrusts into him.

You nibble at his ear, tongue his neck and kiss his cheek. You are both sticky and wet from the night's heat but this feels incredible none-the-less.

Eventually, Ste frees his mouth from the pillow to whisper, "I'm going to cum."

And he does over the bedding and your fingers just before you do. You grip him tightly to you as your shudders take hold and you unload, relishing in the sweet release.

When the aftershocks die down you let your hand wonder down his toned belly, over his flaccid dick under his balls and further back, to where you are still joined to him, buried in his heat.

"That was hot." You murmur as you lazily play your lips over the nape of his neck. "In fact, its number three on my top ten list of why I am marrying you."

He cranes his head round to stare at you. You give him a shit eating grin.

"Having sex with me is only number three?"

You nod. "Aye."

"What's number one?"

You grin at him. "I would need to show you."

"Go on then."

You pull out slowly and then gently lay him on his back and get on top of him.

He looks curiously up at you.

"Ready?" You ask seriously.

He nods.

You shuffle down his body, making a big show of your action then suddenly seal your lips over his belly button and blow hard onto it creating a sound not dissimilar to a fart.

He squirms in your hold and laughs, trying to push you off.

"Shush, Marty! Gerroff!" He says trying to keep his voice down but grinning like a loon up at you. "God! I thought you were going to be serious!"

You grin. "I am being serious. You make me happy. That is my number one reason."

You settle your arms either side of him and he wraps his legs around yours. You love how he feels against you; his chest rising and falling against your own.

"You're going to crush me." He mumbles.

"Stop girning."

"I'm not _girning_."He imitates your accent.

_Girning_ is Scottish for complaining. It isn't often you use Scottish words but hanging around your Scottish family has brought the Celtic out in you.

"What's the number two reason for marrying me then?" Ste asks as he traces his fingers over the length and breadth of your body, idly.

"That you come as you are. No front. No apology. No deception. You are what you are. I love that about you."

His fingers stop moving and his arms fall to his side. He looks at you and blinks then his face clouds over and he turns to one side.

"Ste?" You whisper.

It is as if he has shut himself away from you.

He sighs and pushes against you enough for you to understand that he wants to come out from under you.

He lies on his back by your side, pulls his boxers up and covers his face with his hands.

"I need to tell you something." He says suddenly. He has gone serious all of a sudden.

Your eyes widen in the dark but you stay still, waiting.

"What?" You lay a hand on his belly and prop yourself up onto your elbow to look at him. Inside you are already at panic stations but your countenance remains calm.

"My heart is pounding, Ste. Just spit it out."

He sighs again heavily. He pushes closed fists against his closed eyes. He removes his fists away and looks at you, again.

"I just w-wanted to say that I love you."

You frown. "That's it?"

"And I can't wait until tomorrow." He holds your hand. "I mean it."

You breathe a sigh of relief. God knows what you were expecting him to say but it wasn't that. You feared the worst.

"Good." You give him a crooked smile. "Because it would kind of suck otherwise since I love you too."

The kiss he gives you is full on; pulling you to him, coaxing you into round two.

"Hey." You say softly. "I've got to go before the troops find out. We'll have plenty of time for that."

You slip out of his bed and he throws you the t-shirt he was wearing during the day. You clean up while facing him with a cheeky grin on your face. Then you pull your underwear and shorts up and slip your own t-shirt back on.

He stares at you fixedly in the moonlight so you lift the edge of your top and show him a flash of abs and wink.

The corner of his mouth goes up. "You are so vain."

"Tell me you don't like this." You say with a grin.

"I could take it or leave it." He smiles too.

You laugh quietly and lean in to touch your lips to his. "Alright handsome. I've got to go and get some rest. I'm not sure about you but I'm getting hitched in the morning."

XOXO

The morning is rushed. A series of shouting and laughs and last minute panics and ironing out of creases and hair straighteners and missing ties and waiting for the bathroom to be free and late taxis. And people smiling at you and slapping you on the back and hugging you and kissing you and getting teary eyed.

You are amazed that everything has come together. With the help of your family in Spain, you and Ste have somehow managed to cobble together a wedding in no time.

Today is the day.

_Castell De L'Oliver_ is beautiful and the weather has been kind to you. Blue skies are marred only by the occasional wispy white cloud. A light warm breeze bathes the hill the castle sits on. The temperature is a little too hot for some people's taste but perfect for you.

Most of the decorations are from the event that you replaced; a wedding that, by all accounts, fell through at the last minute. You can't imagine how the bride and groom must be feeling but you are grateful that it has meant that you get to have your day. Their set up was thankfully simple and tasteful.

The ceremony is taking place outside in a palm tree lined garden, on the hillside overlooking the city of Barcelona. The adornments are all white. Flowers. Bows. Chairs. Draped sheets. Pillars lining the isle. The low set podium at the front.

It looks like nearly all the guests are here from where you are standing on the podium with your sister Katy and cousin Max who are your 'best men'. You and Ste asked everyone attending to all wear white. You are glad you indulged that diva moment. The effect is startling. Everything feels fresh, vibrant and new.

You hired a pianist who is sat at a grand piano next to the podium playing show tunes as a nod to your passion for musicals. Stephen's music will dominate the reception party.

The officiant is standing next to you at the centre of the podium patiently staring ahead at the guests, rocking back and forth on his feet. You give him an apologetic smile. He smiles back and continues to rock his feet. You have been assured by the venue's staff that he is bilingual but when you switched to English when speaking to him earlier he smiled and nodded as if he didn't have a clue what you said.

You have a last minute plan B.

Your sister will translate from Spanish to English if necessary.

You can't wait to see Ste. Strange really since you only saw him a few hours ago illicitly. But this anticipation is killing you now.

You look down at your black tuxedo and smooth over it. Then you look down the empty aisle and sigh.

Your cousin, Max, whispers in your ear.

"He's coming. Chill out."

You smile at him. "My palms are sweating. I'm a bag of nerves."

"That's amore." Your sister says with a smile. "Just enjoy the moment."

"Yeah." You say with a grin. You look at the time. It is ten past ten. The service was supposed to start at ten.

"And stop looking at your watch." Katy admonishes you. "Weddings never start on time in Spain. You know that. Remember mine was forty-five minutes late."

"I don't think my heart could cope with that." You say and you press a hand into your chest. As silly as it sounds, having got to this point, you just want to get married already.

Your parents are sitting in the front row on your right with Katy's husband and children. Pete, Leah, Lucas and little Liam, who is kicking up a storm, sit on the front row to your left. Amy is with Ste as his 'best man' hopefully within the castle grounds ready to walk up the aisle.

You wonder which one of them is causing the hold up.

The rest of your extended family, from both your dad's and mum's side, fills most of the rest of the seats. And obviously there are your friends and Ste's who are excitedly whispering to each other.

"Where's daddy and mummy?" Lucas asks Pete.

Pete smiles. "They are on their way. Your dad wants to make sure he looks as good as you do for his big day, champ."

"He's late." The boy says.

"There's plenty of time."

There is commotion amongst the guests and for a second your heart leaps because you assume Ste and Amy have arrived.

They haven't.

It's Mitzeee. She is late and she deliberately decided to ignore dress code in her form-fitting above knee flame red dress and matching wide brim hat, lipstick and shades.

She teeters her way over the grass that must be murder on her heels and waves at you with a huge grin. She shamelessly walks up the aisle, overemphasising the sway of her hips and takes a seat with the Hollyoaks posse.

Right behind her is Amy.

She is a vision in white. Pre-Raphaelite. Her long straight hair is adorned with delicate white flowers. Her floor-length high-waisted ethereal dress moves around her like a mist as she nervously walks up the aisle towards you. The jangle of her numerous bracelets call attention to her.

Ste isn't with her.

The guests hush up except Doug who jokes,

"I thought this was a gay wedding!"

Amy comes up to you and touches your arm gently in a manner that makes you know that something is wrong immediately.

You pull away.

"Where is Ste?" You ask forcefully.

She gets onto her toes and leans into your ear. "I don't want to create a scene but you need to come with me now."

"What's going on?" Your sister asks.

"Nothing." Amy says and fails miserably at sounding convincing. "Just a small last minute glitch."

She speaks to the officiant. "Half an hour and we'll be good to go."

He nods. You have the impression that he has little else to do with his time. You let Amy grab your hand and drag you away.

You can hear your sister making up some excuse for your departure to your guests as you leave.

"What's wrong?" You ask anxiously as Amy practically breaks into a sprint while dragging you behind her.

She doesn't say anything until she leads you into the castle and one of its reception rooms.

"I couldn't get him to come out." She says and points at Ste who is pacing the room.

"Ste." You walk up to him. He is dressed and ready; smart in his black tuxedo that matches your own.

You grip his elbow and get him to look at you. His expression reminds you of how he was last night when he said he had something to tell you. Closed. Anxious. Guarded. "What's going on?"

He blinks at you. He has been crying. You can see evidence of it in his red eyes and nose.

"I can't do it." He says.

"What?" You say numbly.

Amy walks up to you both. "It's just last minute nerves, Ste."

"No." He sniffs. "It's not." He looks at you with watery eyes. "I am a terrible person, Marty. I don't deserve you."

You feel the ground open up below you and you enter free fall.

"I love the bones off you." He says.

"I love the bones off you too." You say. "Why are we here, Ste? Why aren't we there?"

You point out of the window at where your wedding ceremony is supposed to be happening right now. Where your guests are standing up and stretching out and taking strolls around the grounds, waiting for you to return.

"I have fucked up." He whispers. "Like really badly and I don't know what to do."

"Ste, it's okay." Amy says gently and takes his hand.

"It's not." He tells her then turns to you. "All I have been thinking is if I tell you, you are going to walk away and if I don't I will live with guilt for the rest of my life."

"What are you talking about?" You ask him. You are shaking. Your hands. Your voice.

You are not sure you want to know. You want to be out in the sun getting married to him and you already know that what he is about to say may mean that won't happen.

"Something h-h-h-happened when Brendan came to see me at the hotel the evening of the Psychotherapy Conference Ball." He takes a deep breath.

You feel your throat closing up. He isn't looking at you. You aren't an idiot. You know where this is going.

Free fall.

"I-I-I s-should have told you straight away." He whispers.

You flashback to your visit to Brendan's apartment the night before you flew out of Dublin. You can hear his voice in your head as if it was yesterday when he asked you what Ste had told you about their encounter at the O'Callaghan Davenport hotel.

'_Did Stephen tell you what happened?' Brendan simulated a bomb exploding with his hands 'This. Snap. Crackle. Pop.'_

"Did you sleep with him?" You ask Ste bluntly.

Your eyes narrow as your fiancé eyes fill up with tears and he blinks, releasing them. "I... I think I got swept up in memories."

"Did you sleep with him?" You repeat quietly.

"He told me he loved me. We did s-s-stuff we shouldn't have d-d-done. But we didn't go all the way."

You take a breath in. "Your control is remarkable."

Your voice is laced with sarcasm. You walk to a window to look at the sea of white that is your wedding party.

He tries to touch you but you push him away.

He breaks down and starts sobbing.

"I am s-s-s-so sorry, Marty."

Again with the apology.

_SORRY for saying I love Brendan._

_SORRY for cheating on you with Brendan._

The strange thing is, you believe him. He _is_ sorry but he can't help himself where Brendan is concerned.

You turn to look at him numbly while he rides out his tears. You dig your nails into your palms when you get the urge to fold him into your arms and sooth him.

When he calms down you ask,

"Why are you telling me now?"

His eyes are wide and red. "I were feeling so guilty. It's been eating me up for a month." He sniffs and rubs his nose. "I couldn't step out there and lie during our vows."

"How did you think this was going to go exactly?" You ask. "Do you think I am going to say it is okay, that we will move on from this and get hitched?"

"Marty, I think he is trying to wipe the slate clean." Amy says. "Start afresh."

You stare at her. "Who asked for your opinion?"

Amy marches up to you, angrily and jabs a finger into your chest. "Hey, you kissed Toby!"

Ste's Rottweiler. Faithful. Devoted. Generally calm with a tendency for extreme aggression if she feels her best friend is under threat.

"Amy!" Ste says holding her back. "Stay out of this. Go. I need to speak to Marty alone."

"No." She is poised to defend him.

"Please." He says.

"Are you sure?"

He nods so she gives you a warning look and then slips out of the room.

You start.

"She is right. I know I am not perfect, Ste. I was wrong to kiss Toby but it meant nothing and I felt like shit about it and I told you after. When you slept with Brendan it meant something."

"We didn't fuck."

You wince at his words. "But it meant something."

He stays quiet.

You nod sadly. "I rest my case."

"Okay." His shoulders slump. "Okay. It meant something but not how you think."

"What do I think?"

"You think I am still in love with him."

"Aye."

He exhales slowly, emptying his lungs with a tremble.

"When Brendan left me it was hard, Marty. I didn't know how to deal with it. I look at you and I think how lucky you are. Look at everyone out there. Most of them are here for you. You are surrounded by people who love you all the time. Your whole life it has been like that. But not for me. I didn't even know what love meant. I didn't get that maybe someone could like me and want to be with me just because I was me. I never got that with me ma or with Terry or with anyone growing up. I didn't know how to handle it when I met Amy. She taught me slowly and suffered for it.

"And then I met Brendan and I think we taught each other how to love. But he never used the word. He never told me he loved me. And, yeah, I knew that he did because he showed me but I guess a part of me was still that boy who didn't believe he was worthy or deserved it. And when he left me and he told me he didn't love me it proved what I suspected all along. That I was unlovable."

He wipes his cheeks briskly. "And I know I am not making sense but what I am trying to say is that when he came to see me at the hotel and held my hand and looked into my eyes and..."

"Stop." You interrupt him because it hurts too much. "I don't want to know, Ste."

"But you need to know. When he looked into my eyes and told me he loved me and told me that he had lied when he said he didn't all those years ago, I felt complete again. Everything we had shared together had been how I remembered. It had not just been a fantasy in my head. I wanted to feel it again. In that moment I wanted him back. I wanted to go back to how we were because it was the first time I had ever felt truly happy. But they were nothing but memories. He is in my past, Marty. Now I have you and you are the best thing to ever happen to me. You are my present and my future."

"I can't do this." You say suddenly in distress. "This is too much. I can't even stand to look at you right now."

You back away from him and out of the room, closing the door behind you.

Your mind is all over the place. You don't know what to do. You don't know what to think. You have been betrayed. You need to get away from here.

Ste is right behind you, silently following you through the high ceiled corridor that leads to the reception desk. He grabs your arm when you get outside in the bright warm summer weather.

"Marty! Please!"

You stare down at him. "No, Ste."

"Let's talk about it." He pleads.

Someone bumps into your back and mutters 'sorry, mate' but you barely notice the stranger.

You tell Ste, "There is nothing to talk about."

Ste isn't listening to you. He stares at the stranger like he has seen a ghost.

"Fuck me! If it isn't the groom himself! Have I missed the ceremony?" The man says with a big toothy grin.

You glare at him. You don't recognise him so you size him up. Slightly overweight and casually dressed. He has the potential to look good but hasn't made the effort. He has an edge of menace that is coated by a strangely jovial demeanour. It is disconcerting.

"Warren?" Ste takes a fearful step back. "What are you doing here?"

"Is this the fiancé? Or is it husband now?" He points at you. "I haven't interrupted something, have I? Lover's tiff? Bit soon int'it?"

You don't like him.

He extends a hand out to you and grins. "Warren Fox. Ste's old boss at _Chez Chez_. You must be Martin."

You don't take his hand. You know Ste didn't invite him. You don't know why he is here but he makes you feel uneasy.

He turns to Ste. "The silent type, your fella. He's a good looking lad, Ste. I'd say he is a definite step up from tache-man. Or should I say tacheless-man now he has gone and shaved it off."

"What are you doing here?" Ste asks. "How did you know about the wedding?"

"I have my sources." He says and goes serious. "Where are your guests? I need to have a word with one of them."

"It's a private event." You tell him briskly. "Please leave."

"He speaks." Warren says jubilantly. "Thought you were Spanish mate but a bit of tartan just fell out of your mouth when you opened it. Guess I was misinformed."

He pats you on the cheek and then heads for the gardens. You and Ste follow him.

"Oi. Get back here!" You shout after him.

"Piss off, Braveheart!" Warren shouts over his shoulder as he heads towards where the wedding is.

Ste tells you. "I'll get security."

"Okay."

You stare at each other for a second then he runs back to reception. You are tempted to go after him. God knows why? You should have nothing more to say to him. He has put the final nail in the coffin that is your relationship.

You go after Warren instead.

When the wedding guests see you they start clapping and a couple of your friends make crude jokes about what you and Ste have been up to while they were waiting.

You can tell when the Hollyoaks crowd recognise Warren's presence. There is a collective gasp of surprise from them. They seem petrified to see him.

He must one son of a bitch.

Your dear mother looks confused and asks you,

"Can you please tell us what's happening. Where is Stephen?"

Peter and Amy come up to you and stare at Warren.

Pete asks, "What the hell is he doing here?"

You don't know what to say.

You have just found out that your fiance has cheated on you.

You are numb.

"I don't want a scene, yeah?" You say to Warren. "Security will be escorting you off the premises soon."

He grins at you. "This won't take long."

He stands in front of the Hollyoaks collective and points a finger at one person.

"You never thought I'd find out, did you? Did you think you would get away with it, even after six years?"

"What?"

"I know you took my money so drop that innocent look. You can't hide from me. I am here to let you know that I will collect and there is interest..." He looks at his prey up and down, "... Lady in Red."

Mitzeee's eyes widen in shock and fright.

You notice that security and Ste have arrived. Ste never takes his eyes off you.

He has heard what Warren said.

He must know it refers to the £50K that was stolen six years ago.

Warren sneers. "You are just like her."

"Who?" Mitzeee says shakily.

"Louise." He says. "You stabbed me in the back just like she did. I was saving that money for us. For our future."

You would have never guessed it in a million years. Brendan didn't steal the money from Warren. Mitzeee did. Brendan lied to Ste and Pete to make himself look like the bad guy.

In an instant you understand his motivation. He even told you but at the time you didn't get what he was trying to say.

'_You have him, right? Back in your arms. Ste hates me. He loves you. To the victor go the spoils. No need to thank me.'_

You became enraged at his words. The cocky git. You asked him. _'Why would I ever need to thank you for Ste?'_

'_Because I showed him that you should be his first pick.'_

Brendan made you Ste's first pick by making himself into the villain. There can be only one reason for that; because he cared for Ste enough to guide him to what he thought was best.

You.

Ste walks up to Mitzeee. "Did you take the 50K from Warren?" He asks with wide eyes.

She looks to the floor.

The security guards take hold of Warren by the shoulders and elbows but he frees himself and raises his arms up, "It's okay. I'm going."

He winks at Mitzeee. "I'll be seeing you around, Anne."

Mitzeee trembles with fear as Warren walks away.

Everyone looks puzzled except you, Ste and Pete. It is understandable. You are the only people who know the facts enough to make sense of what has just happened.

Pete looks at Mitzeee. "It's not true is it? It can't be."

She bursts into tears. "I wanted to teach him a lesson. He always kept me in the dark and lied to me. He needed to know that two can play that game."

Pete shakes his head in upset. He looks at you and Ste before telling her,

"Mitz. You have no idea what you caused. You ruined everything."

She looks confused.

The officiant chooses that moment to come up to you pointing at his watch.

"It's getting late. Now that everyone is here and the crazy man is gone shall we start the ceremony?"

His English is spot on.


	30. The Reunion Nicola 6

_**Twenty-one years ago...**_

Maybe you are a bit too old to have a bedtime story read to you, but tonight is a special night.

It's your eighth birthday and your parents have just thrown you the biggest birthday party ever. Your friends said so and you thought so.

Now that it is over and all your friends are gone, you get into your new pyjamas, both your parents tuck you into bed, sit by your side and tell you your favourite bedside story from memory; _Little Red Riding Hood_.

Your dad does a brilliant big bad wolf impression.

"Little Red said, grandmother, what large eyes you have!" Your mother says.

"All the better to see you with, my dear, the Bad Wolf said." Your father growls menacingly widening his eyes and blinking rapidly at you, making you grin.

"And what large teeth you have!" Your mother says innocently.

Your dad bares his teeth and chatters them against each other. "All the better to eat you with!"

He pounces on you suddenly and you squeal with a mixture of shock and excitement when he pretends to eat your arm.

"Um, yummy!" He mumbles while making chewing sounds.

"Dad!" You laugh and try to pull your arm away.

"What? You are very tasty." He turns to your mum. "You want to try a piece?"

She shakes her head.

"Finish the rest of the story, please." You tell them, giggling.

He pretends to swallow and then sighs and pulls away. "Okay. Where were we? Ah yes, the Wolf ate Little Red so that she was in his stomach and so was her grandmother. It was warm and wet and icky in there."

"Ew. Disgusting!" You say.

The doorbell rings.

"Who is that? You ask.

Your dad grins and your mum's face clouds over. He leans over to her and gently kisses her cheek before telling you, "A friend of mine. I have to go."

"Are you leaving now?"

"Just for a few hours."

"But it's night time!"

He rubs your cheek soothingly. "It's business and anyway you should be asleep. How about we do something tomorrow? Just you and me. Cinema and ice cream."

"You are spoiling her." Your mother says.

"I am treating my only baby girl." Your dad replies.

"Because you feel guilty."

"I don't."

"Well you should."

You look between your parents. You hate it when they do this. Bicker. They never shout but they take verbal bites out of each other pretty much every day.

You sigh. "It's okay."

They look at you.

"What's okay, darling?"

"I don't need to go to the cinema."

Your dad gives you a kiss on the forehead and your mum pulls you into a hug.

"We'll all go." She says. "How does that sound?"

You nod.

"Happy birthday, Nicola." They say.

"Thank you." You settle into your bed and close your eyes as they turn the lights off.

Just before closing the door to your room your father whispers, "Dormi bene, amore."

Sleep well, my love.

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

You take a sip of water and look over at Paddy who is sitting opposite you.

You are at the lower ground bar at _THE ELECTRIC_ before club opening times_. _You aren't normally at _THE E_ since you and Bren informally agreed the he would oversee it while you took care of _VIBE_ but since his illness, he has taken a back seat and Billy has been promoted to temporary manager of _THE E_ with you keeping a general eye over both businesses to make sure everything is ticking over nicely.

Right now you are trying to gather information about Warren from Paddy in as subtle a way as possible. You don't want him finding out Warren is here yet but you do need him here when Mr Fox comes to the club expecting to see Brendan. You know Paddy will be able to get rid of him easily.

You try to butter your mate up with conversation and alcohol.

"So why are we here, Nikki?" He asks as you slide yet another pint of beer across the table to him.

He pushes it right back at you.

"Can't I have drinks with my friend?"

"Not when you cut my work day short and make it seem like it's an emergency meeting."

"Oh stop."

"And you are trying to get me drunk."

"I'm not." You say sheepishly.

His brow furrows with concern. "Is this about Brendan? Is he okay?"

He holds his breath waiting for your reply. Bless him. Patrick is Brendan's longest lasting friend. Finding out about Brendan's cancer hit him hard but he has been a supportive friend every step of the way.

"I saw him while he was having his chemo earlier. He's as well as can be expected." You reassure.

He breathes out.

"Okay. Good."

He reaches for the pint as an afterthought and takes a drink.

"So how's life treating you?" You ask.

He leans back in his seat. "Busy. Stressful. You?"

"Fine." You smile knowingly at him. "You found someone nice?"

"As in a bloke?"

You nod. "Like a potential boyfriend."

"Give me a chance, Nikki. I've only been out five minutes!"

You take in his relaxed stance. "Gay looks good on you, Paddy."

He laughs. "Oh yeah? No one has ever told me that before."

"Yeah well, I know what I'm talking about. I've known gay men my whole life. You'll find someone in no time." You give him a small smile.

"I don't know, Nikki. I'm not boyfriend material. Guy's don't see me as a long term thing." He sips his drink.

"Is there someone that you fancy?"

He avoids your gaze. "No. No one in particular."

"Liar."

"It's a pointless infatuation." He grins and changes the subject. "Have I told you about dad and mum? They are taking part in a demonstration supporting gay marriage next week."

You chuckle. After his parent's initially lukewarm reaction to his coming out, the O'Flaherty family has embraced their son's sexuality completely, going so far as to join the local LGBT friends and family society as one of its most active members.

"That's sweet."

"It's mad but it's better than how Brendan's folks reacted." Paddy says.

"His mum's alright about it now." You concede.

"Yeah but papa Brady is M.I.A. What a moron! He doesn't even see the grandchildren anymore."

"From the sounds of it he didn't really see them before so." You say. "What I don't get is that Bren's parent's only found out about Brendan when he came back to Dublin and his sexcapades got leaked in the papers and yet he had dated Ste for two years before and brought him back home a few times."

Paddy raises an eyebrow to you. "Yeah but Bren kept Ste away from his parents. He didn't want them to meet each other."

"What were they like together?"

"Ste and Bren?"

"Yes."

"I met Ste nearly a year into their relationship. It had been a bumpy ride and it was a secret affair at the time. They were both publically dating women but I... uh ... found out one day. I can't speak for Ste but Brendan was different around him; less guarded, playful. There was none of his macho posturing we all know. You know what I mean? He was smitten. An idiot could see it."

"Why was it a secret then?"

"Brendan didn't want anyone to know. Only a few did at the time."

"Why?"

"You're full of questions today, aren't you?"

You shrug.

"Bren and I grew up knowing that to survive we had to show off our strengths and hide our weaknesses."

"Being gay isn't a weakness."

"I know... now... and I am not talking about being gay. I am talking about caring about something or someone so much that they become your Achilles heel. Other's can use it to hurt you. Ste was Brendan's Achilles heel."

"But their relationship went public." You say.

"Exactly." He looks at you pointedly. "And look what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"All I know is that Brendan had enemies and that Ste got badly hurt."

"Are you talking about the abduction? You think there's a connection?"

"I'm saying that Ste was a bartender. Why would anyone kidnap a bartender? What do they earn, maybe £13,000 a year?"

"Has Brendan ever said anything to you about what happened?"

He looks at you like you have gone crazy. "You're kidding right? "

You sit up straighter. This is your opportunity to pounce. "He didn't get along with the co-owner of _Chez-Chez_."

"Warren Fox? You are right. Warren had been trying to scare Brendan out of Hollyoaks for a long time. He felt that there was only place for one of them in the village."

You lean over the table. "So what, did they battle it out?"

"You could say so. They tried to get one up on the other." Paddy says. "That is how I ended up in Hollyoaks for a short time."

"What happened? Who won?"

XOXO

_**Twenty-one years ago...**_

You wake up in the middle of the night dying for a pee so you scramble out of bed and sleepily go into the bathroom. When you are done you head back towards your room but you are stopped by the sounds of voices downstairs; deep and muffled.

You quietly head for the staircase and lean over the banister to look at the floor below.

Your dad is near the front door which is slightly ajar, dressed in the clothes he was wearing when he said good night to you after _Little Red Riding Hood_. He is speaking to a man who you know quite well. You have known him for a while. His name is Dave and he works with your dad. He is funny and he makes an effort to speak with you more than anyone else who works with your father. Dad calls him his friend and Dave always gives you a lolly-pop when you visit.

What is he doing here?

You nearly run down to say hello but something makes you stay put.

Your dad leans on the door. "You didn't need to drop me off."

"It's no problem." Dave says. "I'll see you tomorrow then. We have a shipment coming in."

"No. Can't. You'll have to handle it on your own. I'm taking the day off to spend some time with Nicola."

You smile. You love your dad.

He is the best dad ever.

"And Monica?" Dave says.

"Yes."

Dave suddenly pushes your father forcefully in the chest so that he stumbles into the house. You want to run down and kick Dave in the shin but your dad smiles at him.

"You're jealous."

"Fuck off, Enzo." Dave says angrily.

Your dad approaches Dave and your eyes widen as he places his hands on Dave's arms really gently, the way you hold flower petals in the garden to stop them getting crushed.

Your father whispers, "How many times do I have to tell you that you have no reason to be jealous of my wife?"

Your heart is beating fast. You don't understand why but it has something to do with the way your father and Dave look at each other and the way Dave's hands pull your dad to him by the waist.

"Monica knows about us. We have an understanding. Everyone's happy."

"Maybe you are but I am making the best of a bad situation like I am sure Monica is. This is not how I want it to be." Dave says.

"It's the only way it can be."

"You should be honest."

"I am being honest."

"Leave her. Tell Nicola. Be with me."

_Tell me what? Why would your dad leave your mum?_

"No."

Your breath catches when your dad leans towards Dave but Dave pulls back.

"They are upstairs." Dave whispers hesitantly. "That's wrong."

"After what we've just done, this feels wrong?" Your father's fingers curl around the nape of Dave's neck and he presses their lips together.

You have never seen a man kiss another man on the lips before. It looks like they are fighting only not exactly because your dad looks relaxed and he is pulling Dave to him and not pushing him away.

Dave looks at your dad like there is no one else he wants to ever see when they move apart.

You want to cry but you force yourself not to. Your dad is only supposed to kiss your mum, isn't he? This isn't right.

He whispers all out of breath. "I love you but I am not leaving her, Dave. She will take Niks and I can't have that."

"You can fight to have her live with us."

"Fight? Jesus. I am not using my daughter in a war against Mon and I refuse to be a weekend dad."

Dave steps away from your father and shakes his head sadly. "Then it's over. I can't do this anymore."

"Don't be dramatic."

"I am not being dramatic. I deserve better than this. Consider this my notice as well."

"Let's talk about this." Your dad says frantically.

"Bye Enzo."

You cover your mouth as Dave leaves and closes the door behind him. Your dad wipes his mouth roughly and then looks at the closed door. He touches it as if for support and starts to cry.

You run back to your room.

XOXO

_**Present day...**_

Paddy, Warren, Brendan and you are at the cafe you frequent on most days.

Paddy looks surprised. Brendan looks upset.

He has just found out about Ste getting married tomorrow in Spain.

"I brought Warren here because I found something out. I wanted him to apologise to you for getting it wrong and messing with you and Ste's lives. I wanted him to be the one to tell you who really took his £50,000." You say.

"How do you know all this?" Brendan asks you shakily. "No one knows"

"No one has really bothered finding out." You say. "I did."

The truth is you enlisted the help of one of your father's businesses for free; a private investigation firm that operates nationwide. The team have been working over night with you tracing the minutia of the Chez-Chez business, Warren Fox, Brendan, Stephen, his new business. The findings were unexpected and colourful. All three men have had colourful pasts and both businesses have had interesting beginnings.

Like a jigsaw puzzle you pieced together the events of six years ago.

Brendan stares at Warren.

"Look, mate." Warren says nervously. "I thought it was you who did it at the time. I only just found out myself. You know that right?"

"So who took the money?" Brendan asks numbly.

"Mitzeee." Warren says without hesitation.

"She used it to set up a beauty business that went bust." You add.

Brendan says nothing for a while. He falls back into a seat and for a second you think he is going to be sick.

"I should have known." He nods sombrely. "You treated Anne like shit."

"That's rich coming from you."

"Get out." Brendan says softly.

Warren smiles. "What?"

"What?" You shout angrily. "You've got to be kidding me. Call the police, Bren. Get this arsehole locked up!"

"They won't do anything. Where is the evidence, Niks? Burnt six years ago. I'm tired and I am done with this bit of scum. Let him go."

Warren gives you a sly grin. "Thanks, Bren."

"Don't think you are off the hook." Brendan sneers and points at his enemy. "I own you. I don't want you harassing Mitzeee. What happened as a result of her stunt is still all on you. Don't make her feel shit about it."

Warren crosses himself and says, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Careful what you swear about." You say angrily. "You might find yourself six foot under."

"God, you're feisty! I like them feisty... and with dark long hair." He winks at you.

"Fuck off." You hiss.

"I guess I'll be going then." He waves at you all and walks out of the cafe with a strut.

You turn to stare at Brendan.

"Do you know how many strings I had to pull to find all that out and get him here, Bren? I haven't slept since Warren came into town. I can't believe you just let him go?"

You are so angry and disappointed in him right now. You have been investigating, bribing, impersonating and lying all night to get to this point. And for what?

Brendan marches up to you with a determined look. His blood shot eyes are unwavering. His voice is low.

"Why can't you think of something else to do besides dining on the drama of other people's lives? How does me knowing that Mitzeee stole the money change anything? It's done. Ste still got hurt! It was still because of his association to me! He is still getting married tomorrow!"

"Because you let it happen! You pushed him away! What else was he supposed to do? He moved on. He had to. He had to continue to live. You know what, you remind me of my dad sometimes. I don't know why you had to make it so complicated when it's so simple. We don't choose who we fall in love with it just happens. But do get to choose whether we want to spend our lives with them. If you both love each other then what's the problem? Dive in. Give it a shot. Have a stab at happiness!"

"The problem is that it isn't that easy, Niks."

You take his hand. "I am trying to give you a chance to at least be honest with Ste. Let him know that you didn't sacrifice him for a poxy fifty grand because I am going to assume that, and the fact that you dumped him, is why he doesn't like you very much. Tell him that you didn't leave because you had a cold heart but because you wanted to protect him."

"So that he, what, comes running back? He won't. He loves someone else and he deserves more than what I have to offer. He always has. Look at me."

"Let him decide what he wants to do with his life. It is his decision whether he wants to be with you or not. Don't force his arm by lying to him. Don't push him into Martin's arms."

"Why do you care so much?" He asks.

For a split second you are an eight year old kid on the night of her birthday leaning over a staircase banister and you watch your father unnecessarily throw the life he could have had away for your sake.

You pull him into your arms and he eventually wraps his arms around you.

"Room for one more?" Paddy mumbles before encircling you both.

xo

"Quit procrastinating!" You say.

"I'm not." Brendan says as he stares at his phone. "I'm not going to tell him to come back."

"You don't have to. Just tell him how you feel and explain everything." Paddy says.

"And don't congratulate him on the wedding!" You say. "That's as good as giving him your blessing. In fact, maybe you should fly out to Spain. It's not until tomorrow."

Brendan scowls at you. "And do what exactly?"

You picture him in your mind; running up the aisle, stopping the wedding proceedings, standing in front of a surprised Stephen and his guests and telling him breathlessly that he is making a mistake. That he shouldn't marry Martin and that he should run away with him.

You look at Paddy who shakes his head, warning you not to spill your fantasy. You are that transparent.

"Just call him." You say.

He takes a deep breath in and dials Ste's number.

"It's ringing." He says as he looks at you. You can sense his nerves. He is trembling.

"Is he not picking up?" You ask as time stretches out.

"Leave a message." Paddy says encouragingly.

Brendan rubs his eyes tiredly. After a moment he puts his phone down and pushes the heels of his fists into his eyes.

"What happened?"

"I think he cut me off." He mumbles.

"Then try again." You say.

He stands up and puts his phone and car keys into his pocket.

"I'm shattered. I'm going home."

XOXO

_Stephen,_

_I am writing you a letter because you can't decline or ignore it the way you can a phone call. I suppose you could rip it to shreds, though._

_I want to let you know what I really feel. No bullshit. No lies. The truth._

_Today is the day you are getting married and I can see you with Braveheart at an alter somewhere holding hands, doing the ring thing. I imagine that you are happy in a way you have never been before in your life and that you are surrounded by people who are pleased that this day has come. They are probably the same people who told you that you were better off without me._

_Those were my thoughts too and now you are looking at the future and it must look bright. _

_I should be happy for you because it is what you deserve and it is what I had intended for you but I'm not, Stephen. I am consumed by jealousy. I don't want you to be with him. I want you to be with me. I miss you and I want you now more than ever. _

_A part of me feels I should be there now, breaking the ceremony up, telling you that you have chosen the wrong man. But that would be unfair. I pushed you away again and again and now I should deal with result and the choice you made._

_And here I was thinking I could go through life alone and never feel like this. When I met you I thought you would be a passing phase. An itch to scratch. The cocky mouthy boy with the blue eyes, sexy lashes and cute arse. But you never went away and neither did the itch and it scared the shit out of me. I never told you that, did I? I don't know when you stopped being a fuck with no strings attached. Do you? All I know is that one day I looked at you and you looked back at me and I thought you could see into my soul. _

_Is that what you were trying to do? Could you read my mind too? Because sometimes I think you could. Which means you could hear me think. And if you could hear me think then I didn't need to say out loud that I couldn't picture my life without you and that I loved you, because you would have known already._

_The day I saw you hanging onto life by a thread I had to face the possibility of a world where you weren't in it and I felt like I couldn't breathe, Stephen._

_It may not make sense to you but I carried the guilt over what happened to you when you got kidnapped. It was simple in my mind. If you hadn't been with me then it wouldn't have happened. I didn't take Warren's £50k but he thought I did and he kidnapped you and demanded it back in ransom. I tried to collect but failed. I let you down and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. _

_I left you because, in my mind, the solution was simple. You needed me out of your life to save your life._

_And now here we are, six years on. You have everything you deserve in life; a guy who seems good for you and a life you wanted with your very own family. State approved. And the scars have faded. The past is a long time ago. _

_I'm probably not in your thoughts like you are in mine every day._

_I love you, Stephen._

_BB_

XOXO

_**Present Day...**_

You stare at Declan in disbelief as you hold the letter in your hands and he chews his thumb nervously looking back at you.

You can see why he has been acting like he has ants in his pants all evening and why he dragged you into Brendan's office in his apartment before dessert is served.

"Put it back." You say and pass him the A4 sheet.

"Okay." He opens one of the desk drawers and stuffs in under a pile of papers. "But what do you think?"

"When did you find it?"

"A week ago. I was revising and I went into his drawer looking for a hole punch."

"And you had a little rummage while you were there?"

"It really wasn't that hidden." He says sheepishly. "What do we do about it?"

You shake your head. "He didn't send it, Dec."

"No." He rubs his chin in a manner that reminds you of his father. "He poured his heart out, Niks."

"I know."

"I didn't even know Ste got married last month."

You nod. "Yeah. Your dad hasn't wanted to talk about it."

"You knew?"

"Yes."

"So Ste did move on." He looks stunned. "They must really love each other. Him and that guy. What was his name again?"

"Martin."

"Right." He sighs. "I honestly thought that there was something still there between dad and Ste."

"I think we all did."

"I tried ringing Ste, you know, after he left. He never answered his phone."

"Your dad rang him the day before the wedding but Ste cut his call. At least this way there is a definite line in the sand. Brendan can move on. He has been in limbo for six years."

"I suppose. I worry about dad. And now that I'm back at uni I don't see him as much."

Declan's hair is growing out after the buzz cut he did in support of his father's hair loss from chemo. He rubs it distractedly.

"He's doing okay, Deccy." You say reassuringly.

You lay an arm over his shoulder and lead him out of the room after kissing him softly on the cheek.

"Oi, Niks! Aoife will beat you up if she finds out you are trying it on with me!"

You grin and nudge his ribs as you walk into the living room.

This get together has been organised by Brendan. It is a thank you to his close friends and family for being there for him over the last two months since he got diagnosed with leukaemia. In true Brendan fashion he hasn't bothered cooking. Instead he has hired a private caterer to feed you. Cheryl and her family, his mother, his kids, Eileen, her husband, Aoife and of course you and Paddy are here. His father isn't. No surprises.

You and Dec join them at the large table just as the dessert of Eton mess is being served.

Everyone is talking over each other. You can barely make out individual conversations.

"Where did you guys go?"Aoife asks as you take your seats.

"I had to tell Niks something about _VIBE_ before I forgot." Declan says then takes a big bite out of his pudding.

"Oh." She says when he gives her a forced grin.

"Dec, I was telling everyone that we have a school trip to London next term. It's part of a history project." Paraic says excitedly.

"Oh yeah. I remember that trip." Declan says. He went to the same secondary school as his brother. "It was fun."

"I can't wait! I've never been to London have I, dad?" Paraic gushes.

"No you haven't, champ." Brendan says and stares into his dessert as if it is poison.

There is no way he is eating it. All that cream will do a number on him. Despite his reduced appetite you reckon he is looking better than he has for weeks but that isn't saying much. He is still drawn and tired.

"How many teachers are going?" Brendan asks.

"Plenty to keep our son safe." Eileen says kindly, detecting the concern in his voice. "Michael and I have taken care of it by the way."

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze.

Brendan nods briskly and looks over at Paraic. "So what are you going to see, explorer?"

"I want to check out the Natural History Museum. It has a massive Diplodocus skeleton in the main bit apparently."

"What's that?" Brendan's mum asks.

"It's a dinosaur, grandma." Paraic replies.

"Oh, sounds like fun." Grandma Brady pipes up.

"It's a replica, Par." Declan says. "There are very few originals on display in the world."

"Really?"

"Yep.

"Oh." The kid looks disappointed. "Still it will be great. Brad says he wants to share a room with me when we go."

"Who's Brad?" You ask.

"My best friend." Paraic says with a full mouth covered with cream that he licks clean with a darting tongue.

"I've not heard you mention him before." Cheryl says.

"He has been going on about him non-stop since school started up." Eileen says in amusement.

"He's a new kid. He's really cool." Paraic says. "He's the one who told me about the dinosaur."

The intercom sounds and you all look at each other.

"Whoever it is, they are too late for dinner." Paddy says with a smile.

"I'm not expecting anyone else." Brendan looks confused as he starts to get up off his chair.

"It's okay, dad. I'll get it. Sit down. It's probably a door to door salesman. I'll get rid." Declan gets up.

"Do door to door sales men come round at this time?" Grandma Brady says sceptically.

"It's probably a neighbour who has forgotten their keys." You say dismissively.

Paraic leans towards his father and whispers something in his ear.

Brendan raises an eyebrow.

"He tried to do what!" He looks like he is keeping a burst of anger in by a thread. "When?"

"Last week." Paraic says cautiously.

"And what did you do?"

Paraic blushes and you wonder what father and son are talking about.

The whole table listens to the hushed conversation. "I don't know."

"You don't know."

"I can't remember, dad." The blush deepens. "My heart was beating really fast."

Brendan whispers. "Did you let him?"

"Let who do what to whom? When?" Michael asks.

"With all due respect, Mike, I am speaking with my son so stick your nose elsewhere."Brendan says.

"They live under my roof too, Brendan." Eileen's husband says. "I think I have a right to know."

Seamus, Cheryl's middle boy, decides to contribute to the conversation with kissing sounds. His mother tells him to shut up.

"I'm nearly twelve. I can kiss him if I want!" Paraic says stubbornly.

"So you kissed him!" Brendan says.

Eileen looks distressed. "Who?"

"Brad." Little Paddy says quietly. "But I didn't kiss him. He kissed me."

"Does this mean your son is gay too?" Grandma Brady asks in disappointment.

"Good for your, Par." Aoife says with a smile.

"Don't encourage him." Brendan hisses angrily. "He is only eleven! You are not sleeping in the same room as that boy when you go to London, you hear me, young man?" Brendan orders.

"Why? He is my friend. That's not fair!"

"What do you think they are going to get up to, mate? Come on." Big Paddy reasons.

"Let's talk about this later." Eileen says.

"See. This is what happens when you expose your children to what you get up to, Brendan." Grandma Brady chips in. "The good Lord..."

"Shut up, mum!" Brendan says then looks at his son. "And you. To your bedroom. Now!"

"Brendan!" Eileen says.

Paraic stands up looking tearfully at his father. "I thought you would understand. I shouldn't have told you!"

"Hey. Your dad does understand, love, but you are still young and your parents want to talk to you about what happened and make sure you were okay with it." Cheryl says soothingly, holding her nephew's arm. "Isn't that right, Brendan?"

"We kissed and I liked it, so there!" Paraic throws his napkin on the table before grabbing his dessert and marching off to the balcony.

"Well done, Bren. Well handled." His sister says sarcastically. When her children try to go after Paraic she points at them to stay put. "No, boys. Let your cousin calm down. He needs a moment alone."

"I don't understand what's going on. Are kids doing this now a days?" Grandma Brady says in confusion.

Brendan shakes his head in dismay. "I don't know."

Paddy grins as he looks at Brendan's crestfallen expression. "It's really no big deal, man. Little Paddy has just had his first romantic experience. Its the beginnings of hormones kicking in. A milestone... like walking."

"What are we going to do with him?" Brendan asks Eileen in defeat.

"Let him ride it out." You suggest.

Eileen nods and says. "We'll do what we did with his brother when I caught him in a lip lock with Aoife for the first time."

Aoife looks down in embarrassment.

"Ground him?" Brendan says hopefully.

"No." Eileen smiles at her ex-husband. "Talk to him. Birds and the bees."

"Um, guys." Declan's voice cuts through the drama at the table.

You look up towards him and your jaw drops when you see who is standing next to him.

"We have a guest." Dec looks straight at his father with apprehension.

The spoon Cheryl is holding clangs into her glass dessert bowl. Her hands go to her mouth in surprise.

"Oh my God!"

She stands up.

"Ste?"

xo

Paraic runs into the apartment from the balcony when he hears his aunt's shrill voice. He runs up to Ste and flings his arms around him.

"Ste! What are you doing here?" He says with a huge grin on his face.

"Hey, you." Ste clears his throat as he ruffles Paraic's hair and looks apprehensive as he takes in the assembled guests. He did not expect to see you all here and you can see how you can come across as an intimidating group; you are a united front.

"Sorry, I picked a bad time." He says nervously.

"You're alright, Ste." Declan says. "We're just having a small get together to celebrate how well dad is doing with..."

Brendan gives him an icy glare and a subtle shake of the head that shuts his son up. He doesn't want Ste to know about the cancer.

Declan continues, "We can pull up a chair or you can use Par's since he was in the middle of a tantrum."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

There is something about Ste that you failed to appreciate the one and only other time you saw him. He radiates potential energy. There is vibrancy about him; like a kettle just before it boils or a corn just before it pops. And there is something unconventionally attractive about him that keeps you looking at him. Maybe it's those crystal blue eyes framed by enviable lashes.

There is a spark between your friend and his ex. Definitely. They sizzle as they look at each other as if no one else is in the room. Ste must notice the changes to Brendan. The lack of facial hair. The trusty black beanie hat. The more slender form. The bags under the eyes.

He clears his throat and says, "Yeah. I can see this is a bad time."

Declan grins. "You've said that already."

"Please stay." You say quickly and stand up.

"You are more than welcome." Cheryl says cautiously.

"It's good to see you." Eileen says with a small smile.

"Yeah. You're looking well, Ste." Paddy says.

They all remind you that he was once a part of all of their lives. Strange how that makes you feel like the outsider. They all knew him when he was an essential part of your best friend's life.

What is he doing here anyway? He is married, right. He has his own life going on...

"I came to s-see Brendan. To talk." He takes a deep breath. "So it's better if I come some other time."

Brendan hasn't said a word since Ste got here. He adjusts his cap as if trying to cover the side effects of the chemo and stands up, holding onto the back of his chair as Ste walks up to him.

The room goes dead quiet.

Ste places a business card into Brendan's palm then looks up at him. "I'm at the O'Callaghan Davenport for two days. My room number is on the back. I would like to see you if that's okay."

"Um. Yeah." Brendan's voice comes out all croaky so he coughs.

Ste walks back towards the door again.

"I'm sorry I disturbed your meal." He says to everyone.

"See you soon, Ste!" Little Paraic waves excitedly.

Declan pulls Ste into a hug before seeing him out and closing the door.

Once he is gone it is as if the un-mute button has been pressed.

Everyone starts talking at once.

"Did anyone else just see that or did I trip out?" Paddy says.

"I can't believe he is here?" You say.

Declan, Eileen and Cheryl grin like idiots.

"Yeah." Brendan looks stunned as he looks down at the business card. "Why?"

"Was he wearing a wedding ring?" Paddy asks. "Anyone?"

You were too shocked by his presence to notice.

Brendan looks stunned.

"How come you can kiss Ste as many times as you wanted but I can't kiss Brad once?" Paraic moans at his father.

"Not now, Par." Dec says.

"Who was that young man?" Grandma Brady asks in confusion to his son.

Brendanfinally moves. He taps the card against his lips and looks at his mother.

His voice is full of disbelief as he says,

"You never met but that was my ex-boyfriend, ma. His name is Stephen."

xo

You ring the doorbell and wait. It is a little late but you feel a strong need to be here now.

A few moments later the door opens and your father greets you.

"Nicola?" He says in surprise and ushers you in, closing the door behind you. "We weren't expecting you. Is everything okay?"

"Yes." You say and then burst into tears.

Your father pulls you to him, holding you so tight that the tremble of your body calms down.

"Hey, piccola! What's the problem?"

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Course I do." He strokes your hair.

"And I want you to be happy, dad."

He pulls you away just enough to see your face. "Look at my face. Don't I look happy to you? I am happy. I have you and your mother. What else does a man need?"

You rub your tears.

"I had dinner with Brendan and his family today."

"That's nice." He says uncertainly.

"And out of the blue his ex turned up."

Your father's expression darkens. "And..."

"I never told you but he was seeing this guy called Ste ages ago and they were really happy together but then Brendan left Ste because he thought it was better all round if they weren't together anymore."

"Okay."

"Brendan has carried Ste's picture in his wallet for six years and now Ste is here and it may not amount to anything but I guess it made me realise that there is always hope. That it is never too late, dad."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you ever think of Dave?"

He stumbles back from you in surprise. The fact that it took him no time to know who you were talking about answers your question.

"Who?" He says unconvincingly.

You take his hand. "Maybe it isn't going to be Dave but it is never too late to be who you want to be."

XOXO

_**One more chapter to go...! I had to end it with Stephen...**_


	31. The Reunion Stephen 7

**_So this chapter ended up being super long because I can easily use ten words where two will do!_**

**_I am a sucker for requests so there will be an Epilogue thus the somewhat abrupt end to this chapter. _**

**_I hope you have had your loo break and a cuppa cos you'll get pressure sores reading this one..._**

**_Thanks for reading y'all. And thank you for the comments. Touching my heart, one and all._**

**_Hugs,_**

**_Chips_**

**_x_**

**_..._**

**_Present Day (two months)..._**

"I'm sorry I disturbed your meal."

Those are your parting words, mumbled without looking at anyone in particular before you sprint out of the apartment.

You shut the door firmly behind you and lean back against it. Then you take what feels like the first breath you have taken since you got here. You close your eyes, trying to gather yourself together. When you open them again you stare at your hands. They are shaking. You feel lightheaded like you have just climbed Everest and yet all you have really accomplished is fumbling through an awkward encounter with Brendan, his family and friends.

You should have known that trying to 'sort yourself out' wasn't going to be easy.

Actually, it is bloody difficult. The whole process is more like slowly dragging yourself over sand paper and then rubbing salt over your wounds.

You shouldn't have turned up unannounced assuming he would be alone. That is how you have ended up coming face to face with Brendan's inner circle,

1) Cheryl, who you last saw at the opening night of _PECKISH!_ three years ago and who you shouted at spectacularly, causing her to cry and run off.

2) Paraic and Declan, who tug at your heart strings as the most acute reminders of how you and Brendan were versus how you are now.

3) Paddy, who you have always had reservations about despite Brendan's assurances that he was sound... in the end. By the looks of it, they are back to being bessies.

4) Eileen, who you ended up getting along with famously but who you stopped speaking to after your kidnapping because of her association with him.

That leaves the raven haired beauty who was sitting next to him and that you remember from the Italian restaurant. The one that you previously assumed was his girlfriend. You know she isn't now. You had found out her name is Nicola. His right hand 'man'. His 'Amy'.

They were all there giving you the stare.

Probably seeing right through you and your feelings for Brendan which surfaced just by looking at him. Feelings that you have vowed to keep a lid on no matter how intense and visceral they get. Or how acute as to reach a point of distraction.

You have to make sure that they don't get in the way of what you have to do here in Dublin.

You can't afford to ogle him like you just did; ruminating over the fact his 'tache is gone. Not that it is a big deal because it is just a bit of hair; superfluous and unnecessary.

Except, it was more than that. It was how you knew him. His 'Mexican porn moustache'. It tickled you. It enticed you. It made you sore after a while when he went for it and he could not get enough of you; your face, your torso, your bum. It gave texture to his embraces; something to remember after the fact, an echo that made you smile and blush.

The moustache is not all that has changed in him.

He looked thin, tired and weary when he used to be toned and full of pent up energy. He was never buff like Martin who worked out religiously and was careful about what he ate but Brendan had unassuming shape and tone. The kind that surprised you when the kit came off, in a 'oh, let's cop a feel then, Bren' way and a 'where were you hiding them?' way.

You know he worked out on the sly because Amy caught him in the act one day. He never told anyone but you reckon the constant playful taunts about your age gap played on his mind. You were nicknamed his 'elixir of youth'. You would wake up in the early hours of the morning and see him standing by the bed facing away from you, pinching his non-existent tummy or plucking an invisible gray hair in the mirror. A thirty-four year old Brendan with an age complex.

He should have known that you would have taken him fat or skinny, grey or bald, young or old, with 'tache or without.

Sure, in the very beginning of your relationship, the physical was front row and centre as far as reasons for your attraction to him. But gradually, while it still played a part, it was not the biggest reason why loved him; not after he had imprinted himself onto your heart.

His appearance now worries you, though. He didn't look well just now in the apartment.

You push yourself off the door and head for the stairs, running down them two at a time while going over how you had invited him back to your hotel with all the awkwardness and hesitation of a teenager asking a crush to a school dance.

"_I'm at the O'Callaghan Davenport for two days. My room number is on the back. I would like to see you if that's okay." _

Had that sounded like a come on?

Suggestive? Desperate? Forward?

Had your phrasing conjured up images of a hurried grope full of years of pent up emotions?

Had you given Brendan the wrong idea?

"Stupid Ste!" You whisper harshly to yourself.

You get a hit of the cool night air as you walk out of the converted apartment building's grounds and onto the pavement of the virtually empty street.

That is when you realise that you haven't sorted how you are getting back to the hotel.

_That's because you didn't think you were going back tonight... because you thought you and Brendan were going to ... "chat"... _

_All. _

_Night. _

_Long._

You ignore your subconscious, removing the taunting parentheses in your mind. You so had not planned to do anything with Brendan. Of. That. Nature.

Honestly.

You know what your feelings for him are but they are irrelevant since past experience has informed you that you and he do not equal happily ever after. You have tried and tried and crashed and burned.

Your heart can't go through it all again.

_I am not here to give it another go_, you remind yourself.

'_Just... take care, yeah.'_ Amy said to you at the airport when seeing you off. _'I don't want you hurt again. Do what you need to do and come back.'_

And that is exactly what you intend to do.

You take your phone out to call the cab company you used to get you here.

You look around you to ascertain your location. You are on the edge of Herbert Park.

Why is it that parks always look sinister at night?

You shudder involuntarily.

Someone is approaching you, walking right through the darkest centre of the expanse of green to where you are standing on the lit street edge. He is an ill-defined solitary figure; hands in pocket, hoodie covering head, hunched over against the breeze with a brisk purposeful gait.

You look around and notice there is no one else around, just a car that zips past and turns a corner.

You stand frozen, with your thumb hovering over the touch screen of your phone. Your mouth is dry and all you can think is fight or flight.

He comes out of the dark and into the light.

XOXO

**_One month previously..._**

You are whisked off by Amy from the castle, against your will, to a café in town to 'calm down', 'stop being hysterical' and 'give some distance between you and Martin's family'.

Amy says thing like-

"Martin doesn't hate you! But you need to give him space and time."

"People will forget, Ste. Today's news is tomorrow's fish and chip wrapper."

"It wasn't _that_ bad. The Warren/Mitzeee drama took the spot light off you a bit."

"In fact, can you please explain what the whole issue is with them?"

You blank her and the Spanish pastries designed to make you feel better. You stand up without warning during another unhelpful statement of hers, 'I'll help you write apology letters if you want', and step out of the café.

Amy follows you anxiously, fearing for your state of mind.

You take you tuxedo jacket off and hail a taxi. One miraculously grinds to a halt in front of you within seconds. Amy wordlessly hops in with you.

Your destination is clear; the holiday villa of Martin's parents.

You give instruction to the taxi driver and sit back.

"That's not a good idea." Amy says worriedly.

"Yeah well, that's me." You stare straight ahead. "Full of shit ideas. What's one more?"

The taxi driver pulls out into the road, and then looks at the two of you through the rear view mirror. "Is wedding?"

"Yes." Amy says tightly.

"No." You say at the same time.

He grins. "Is yes or no?"

You meet his eye in the mirror. You feel strangely removed from what is happening as if it is happening to someone else and you are a passing observer.

"It was supposed to be my wedding." You say numbly as you feel tears collecting. "But it's off because I am a bad person, okay?"

"She very beautiful. Like Botticelli picture." The cabbie says as he indicates Amy and you realise that there is a loss in translation. "You try."

You look over at Amy. She does look beautiful... and uneasy.

"What are you planning to do when we get there?" She asks.

"I don't know." You say honestly.

"Not beg him to get back with you." She says softly.

"No."

She actually looks relieved. She has finally realised that you and Martin aren't a perfect match.

"I don't want him to think that I lied to him for five years like they meant nothing to me, though."

She grips your arm. "Seriously, babes, this is not the time. Give him a chance to calm down and get his head around what happened. It is huge. He feels betrayed, humiliated and crushed. Don't rub salt into the wound. Let's go find a hotel to stay at or something."

"No." You say.

You stare ahead with still, unseeing eyes and shut her out of your consciousness.

Instead you concentrate on what got you to this point; pulling the plug on a marriage to a man that most sane men and women would sacrifice their right arms for.

_I must be mad._

_I must be._

_I have just said no to everything I craved for since I was a little boy growing up. _

_A family. Security. Safety. Affection. Loyalty. Unquestioning, open, requited love._

"I think I'm having a break down." You say quietly.

XOXO

**_Seven years ago..._**

"Come on." Brendan groans into your neck, groping you from behind, while you urgently try to get your hotel room open.

"Gerroff, then." You mumble. "You're distracting me!"

He kisses your neck, slaps your bum lightly and shoves you out of the way. He slots his key card into the door and it opens in a flash.

He gives you a wink.

"That's how it's done." He says before stepping aside to let you in first.

You stick your tongue out at him and slip past him to go straight to the bathroom for a quick whizz and brush your teeth. Then you get back into the room, quickly get undressed and slip into bed. No messing around. You are buzzing from your evening out and you want to feel connected to him.

Brendan proved you wrong today. He can do dates and he can get a bit romantic.

In public.

Who knew?

He is taking his time to join you in bed so you try your bed room eyes on him.

He doesn't bait and disrobes at a leisurely pace at the foot of the bed while looking mischievously at you.

"What's with the shit-eating grin?" He asks, giving you his signature lop-sided one.

"I liked that restaurant." You say, toying with the bed sheets and watching how the light from the side lamps bounces off the plains of his body.

"Yeah?" He slips into bed next to you and silently indicates for you to come up to him.

"Yeah. The food were boss." You shuffle up to him and his arm curls around you.

He grunts in that generic nonchalant manner of his. "I barely got a look in on dessert."

"What do you mean? We shared!" Your lips quiver with amusement.

"You ate most of it before I picked up my fork!"

"Slight exaggeration!" You scoff at him.

He rests a hand over your slightly bloated stomach reminding you of how overfull you are. "I rest my case."

"Okay fine." You relent. "Lemon polenta cake with _limoncello_ syrup." You say slowly as you run your fingers repeatedly over the hairs of his chest. "I should try to make it one day."

You have taken to culinary experimentation with Brendan as your taste tester.

"You should."

You look up at him. "I had a really lovely evening, Bren."

His arm around you gets that bit tighter and more possessive.

You hesitate before saying your next words. You try to pitch the words to sound casual and throw-away. "Like, if maybe one day you wanted to go there again, that would be nice. I mean, with me."

You blush because you are sounding really lame and anything but 'casual and throw-away' so you add, "Like whatever. No big deal."

"Another meal at _Secondo_ with you, huh?" Brendan says as if he is contemplating this option in great detail. Then he runs a single finger over your shoulder, down your arm to settle on your hip, making you shudder with awareness. He smiles. "That could be arranged."

You bury your grin in his chest.

"Cool."

You have had your first successful date, complete with candles on the table, subtle flirtation, and 'shared' pudding.

You kiss his chest just over his heart and let out a satisfied sigh.

You could fall in love with Dublin. It is like Brendan is a different person here.

More open.

"On one condition. That pervy waiter can't serve our table."

You roll your eyes at him. "He was harmless."

"He was practically hip thrusting in your direction."

You laugh.

He pulls you in to whisper into your ear. "So I was thinking for starters we could stay in bed. Reverse cowboy or lap dance."

"Huh?" You mutter.

He raises an eyebrow at you. "We had a deal, remember? Any more puns or innuendos from pervy waiter and you were at my beck and call tonight."

You remember.

"But there were no innuendos." You say, covering a smile.

"This dessert has people cumming again and again and again." Brendan says, impersonating the waiter's voice.

You correct him with a grin. "He said 'people come back for this dessert again and again'."

"Whatever. What about, 'Next time you should try the Kobe. It is 500 grams of pure beef, thick cut, and satisfying. It thoroughly fills you up'."

"He was talking about steak, Bren."

"He was talking about something else." He grins.

You grin back. "You!"

"So which is it going to be? Reverse cowboy or lap dance?" He grips you and pulls you up onto him.

You settle over him, sitting up to straddle his hips as he grips yours. Then you rest a hand on your stomach.

"Dunno. Which one will make me feel less nauseous?"

XOXO

**_Present Day (Two months)..._**

You narrow your eyes in the direction of the lone stranger as he walks out of the shadows of the dark park into the street light. He approaches you and you take a cautious step back.

You take in his dark clothing and his purposeful gait. You are on guard. Your hairs are on end but you are bolted to the spot, unable to move.

You make a quick assessment of the situation. He is bigger than you. He could take you down. He pulls down his hoodie so that you catch his face. He is no one you know.

Duh. Everyone you know here in Dublin is in Brendan's apartment right now.

You look at his hands. No gloves. No white napkin. This is deeply reassuring but you don't compute that the reason is that your assailant had them all those years ago.

He reaches into both his pockets and your nearly lose control of your bladder.

"Hey, mate, do you have a light?"

You stare at him blankly.

He shows you a cigarette and mimes the action of firing up a lighter. "A light?"

He looks a little tipsy, like he is at the end of an evening out at the pub.

You open your mouth to speak but only a croak comes out.

He shakes his head and walks past you. "Freak."

You snap out of your petrified haze and re-evaluate the situation.

There is no danger. He is harmless.

You inhale and turn around to speak to him as he walks away. "Hey! S-sorry. N-no. I don't. I don't smoke."

He waves a dismissive hand at you without breaking his stride and speaks over his shoulder. "Yeah. Whatever."

You slowly exhale and run a shaky hand over your head, feeling the bump of the scar at the back of your head.

You smile.

You did it without a total breakdown. You spoke to a stranger at night when you were alone.

XOXO

**_Seven years ago..._**

You fall back onto the bed on your front, breathing harshly and wipe your brow. "Wow, Bren! Wow!"

That.

Was.

Incredible.

"Fuck!" Brendan groans as he whips off his condom, ties it off and flings it into the bin. Then he growls and reaches over to bite your shoulder, making you grin and turn onto your back.

"Why do you always try to bite me?"

"Because you look good enough to eat." He says.

"What position was that?" You ask. You know you have a dazed stupid look on your face but you can't help it. You feel sated, boneless, tired yet invigorated. One hundred percent satisfied.

"Don't know." He mumbles. "But my back hurts."

You smile even more broadly and stare down at your cum smeared torso. You run a hand over it.

"I'm going to grab a shower. I'm all icky now." You say smugly.

"Want me to scratch your back?"

You look at him and scoff. "No. You can go after. You'll probably try that move again or summat and I would feel bad if you slipped and fell and cracked summat!"

"Wouldn't happen." He says, puffing out his chest. Testosterone is still coursing in mega doses through his veins.

"What's wrong with the normal positions anyway?" You argue playfully.

"Like what?"

You sit up. You feel yourself going red when you explain, "Like, for example, me on my hands and knees and you, you know..."

When you do it like that his cock hits your prostate just right and it feels out of this world. Toe curling good.

Brendan grins and says innocently. "No. I don't know. Explain."

You stand up and turn to face him. "No! Stop trying to make me say dirty stuff! I'm going to have my shower!"

You head for the bathroom knowing that you have gone red all over from the discomfiture and preceding exertion.

"Hey! Stephen!" He calls after you. "Get back here! Are you seriously going to plant doggy-style in my head and then leave?"

XOXO

**_Present day (One month)..._**

"Tell him to leave!" Martin's mother shouts at her husband in the kitchen while you and Amy stand waiting in the hallway of their holiday home.

She was not happy to see you when she opened the door to you before being taken away by her husband when she launched into a tirade of verbal abuse.

"Carmella." He says calmly. "Be reasonable. They may be here to get the children."

"I'm serious. Tell him to go or else I am going to throw him out myself!" She screams.

You feel every word like a stab to your chest because you know that they reflect the sentiments of every member of the McCallister and Vasquez families.

Amy pulls at your hand urging you to leave the premises but you stay put.

"It's okay. I deserve it." You whisper. "But I'm not going until I have spoken to him."

"They won't let you see him, Ste. They've probably built a fortress around him. In fact, he probably isn't even here."

But she is wrong.

Martin appears in the spot where he found you last night when you called him over in the dead of night on the eve of your wedding. He stares at you, expression-less wearing his usual 'house uniform'; a plain white t-shirt and grey jogging trousers.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

Something about this situation reminds you of a night three years ago; the night after a day that was meant to be special and memorable but got ruined by the past.

XOXO

**_Three years ago..._**

"So how was your day, babe?" You ask lightly once Martin comes into the living room in his house uniform.

Your boyfriend sighs and says, "Good, bad then ugly."

You smile at him so he smiles back and kisses you. You walk to the couch in the living room with him.

He sits down and when you sit next to him he lifts your legs to swing them onto his lap and holds them there.

"And you?" He asks.

You dramatically throw your head back so that it collides with the armrest of the couch and contemplate the ceiling.

"It was supposed to be perfect. I had all my mates round at my new bistro. And my fit boyfriend..."

"Who's that then?"

You grin. "You wouldn't know him! Tall, buff, cute, intelligent..."

"Funny with killer dance moves?" Martin interjects.

"Sometimes!" You grin.

"He sounds like a keeper." He smiles.

"He is. Anyway, he was there and my kids. Everyone was loving my food and saying that the bistro was going to be a success and I made this rousing speech like Churchill for the opening event. And then it all went to pot."

"What happened?"

You fold your hands over your chest protectively. "The sister of my ex turned up and ruined everything."

"Why did that ruin everything?"

You hesitate. "I guess because I didn't want her there. I didn't want to be reminded of my past."

He rubs your legs. "We all have one. It makes us who we are. Sometimes it is better facing our past and accepting it before moving on."

You sit up suddenly and look at Martin angrily. "I know what you are doing. I told you I don't want to talk about it."

He takes his hands off you so that you can swing your legs off his lap and stand up.

"All I am saying is that talking about Brendan might be helpful, Ste. If you don't want to talk to me about him that's fine. I get how that might be kind of weird. But then talk to someone else. You can't spend the rest of your life trying to avoid the issue and freak out when you are confronted by it."

You point at him with a shaky hand. "There is nothing to talk about."

You storm off to the bed room in a strop.

He creeps in minutes later and leans on the wall when you have had a chance to simmer down.

"Is it safe to come in?"

"I'm sorry." You mumble from your bed. "I can be a right shit, can't I? I know you were just trying to be helpful."

"I have the perfect solution to headaches caused by sisters of ex-boyfriends who rock up to bistro opening parties unannounced."

You are sceptical. "Yeah? Like?"

He walks up to you and takes your hand. "Come on. Let's get in the car."

"I'm in house clothes."

"So am I. It doesn't matter. Where we are going it's just going to be you, me and the great outdoors. You'll forget the worries of world."

"That sounds perfect."

He smiles at you. "It will be."

XOXO

**_Present Day (One month)..._**

"Do you want us to go, Marty?" Amy asks on your behalf.

He looks at you like he is seeing a stranger and folds his arms across his chest. "I don't know."

"I would like to speak with you." You say. "Five minutes."

"Is that all it is going to take? Five minutes. To explain why." He says bluntly.

"I don't know what to say. I am feeling really crap right now." You say helplessly.

He snorts a derisive laugh. "Join the club."

"I do love you, Martin-"

He cuts you off with a hand gesture and a sharp, "Enough with the bullshit, Ste."

"It's not bullshit."

"I'll tell you what this has been about all along; you never getting over what happened and yet fooling yourself that you had. And I am not talking about the kidnapping. I am talking about you and Brendan."

You feel a prickle at the corners of your eyes.

"I was an elaborate five year long smokescreen." He says numbly.

"You can't seriously think that?" You reply quietly.

Martin is right that you have lied to yourself about totally moving on from Brendan but he was never just a cover. You cared, still care and always will care an immeasurable amount for him. He has managed to be to you what Brendan wasn't in so many ways.

He has been your rock. And with time you believed that the feelings you had for him surpassed and replaced the feelings you had for Brendan. But the heart is a funny beast and yours never stopped aching for Brendan as much as you tried.

Brendan remained your fire; frustratingly and nonsensically.

"And now that you know that he wasn't complicit to your kidnapping," Martin says bitterly, "I am sure you are dying to go to him. Your knight in shining armour."

You frown at him, uncomprehendingly.

How is Brendan, by any stretch of the imagination, your knight in shining armour?

You don't understand how Martin can make the leap from Brendan not being the direct cause of your kidnapping to him being your saviour. He knows that Brendan left you when you were in hospital and never checked to see that you were okay.

Brendan ran scared. What is heroic about that?

"Brendan? Ste's Knight?" Amy says incredulously. "You have got to be kidding me. He is a wolf in sheep's clothing. He fooled me too. Believe me, Ste and I have given him plenty of chances. He has hurt my best friend one too many times. Never again!"

Martin shakes his head. "Speak to your husband, Ames. Get him to tell you the truth."

"What truth?" She asks.

"Ask him why he isn't mates with Brendan anymore."

He looks at you dead in the eyes. "You might want to book front row seats for their chat, Ste."

He sounds defeated.

"Why?" You ask.

"Just tell us now." Amy demands anxiously.

His parents walk into the hall at that moment.

"We thought we heard voices." Martin's father says.

"Is he bothering you?" His mother asks Martin without even looking at you. She walks up to him.

"No." Martin says, tiredly. "They were just leaving. We had nothing more to say."

"Martin-" You protest.

"You heard my son, Ste." His father says evenly. "Please don't make this unpleasant. Your children are sleeping next door with Pete and tired out from crying about what has happened. Please let's not have another scene."

Your children.

Shit.

You want to see them.

You want them to know that the world hasn't turned upside down.

"Could you ask Pete to ring us when they are up?" You ask. "We'll pick them up and get out of your hair."

Martin's father nods brusquely.

You take Amy's hand, look at Martin who is determinedly staring at the floor and walk out of Villa Vasquez.

XOXO

**_Seven years ago..._**

You head into the shower. Despite your protestations, Brendan joins you, and takes the job of cleaning you very seriously.

Afterwards, you get dressed in something comfy, help each other strip off the cum-covered sheets and throw them on a heap on the floor.

"Hide the damp bits, Bren." You say in embarrassment. You don't want the cleaners to know that you came all over them.

"There are two main reasons to ask for a change of sheets and since you don't menstruate..."

He collapses onto the bed cover and smiles up at you.

"Yeah, I suppose." You lie on your back next to him and study the ceiling. "Do you ever think about moving back here to Dublin?"

"Yes." He says simply.

"Because you miss Dec and Par." You look at him curiously.

"Yes and I miss this city. This is home."

You think about this and take his hand. "That must be an amazing feeling, having somewhere you can call home."

"Hollyoaks is home for you."

Your brow furrows. "It's not the same. I've lived there since I were fifteen to escape my parents but it's not 'home', you know?"

"Manchester then." He ventures and you feel him start to play with your hand subconsciously, running his fingers over your palm, intertwining, letting go, squeezing, caressing. A habit he has acquired when you get to talking.

"You mean where my alcoholic mum that doesn't want to know lives with me step dad who used to beat me up for sport? No thanks." You shudder involuntarily, remembering a childhood of hunger, screaming matches, bruises and fear. "I ain't been back in years. I saw mum like a year and a half ago and I want to keep it that way. They ain't met Lucas and I don't want them to."

Brendan grimaces and his hand stills in yours but he lets you keep talking.

"They don't know I'm gay. They would flip if they found out. And like, so what? What difference does it make if they know or not? I'm happy with or without them."

You put on your tough guy voice because Bren needs to know that you are fine about your parents not caring about you especially since you are all grown up now. You don't need them. You can take care of yourself now.

He presses his lips into your palm.

The gesture surprises you. Maybe Brendan has read through your bravado.

"What was that for then?" You ask.

"Nothing." He says gruffly.

"Oh." You still feel the warmth and pressure in your hand where his lips were so you close your fist to keep the sensation in.

He looks at you. His voice is a low rumble, like sea waves at night or the gentle rustle of dry leaves in a light breeze. "You know what I used to think when I was a kid growing up?"

"What?"

"I used to think, 'Just wait until I get bigger than you, pa. You won't see the puny little eejit who let you slap him around. You won't be able to hurt me and scare me and I'll be rich and powerful and I'll come back to Dublin. Just you watch. I'll come back and I'll be King of this City and you'll see _me'_."

"He'll see you?"

He grunts and uses your hand to point at his own chest. "Yeah. _Me_." He gives you a sly smile. "Brendan Brady. Let your mother _see_ you, Stephen."

You nod, understanding his point. "So what you're saying is that I should prove them wrong. Show them that I can be somebody."

He leans in and gives you the gentlest kiss. "Not just a pretty face."

XOXO

**_Present Day (Two months)..._**

Your sleep has been full of dreams; a continuous warped amalgam of true events and fairytales. A knight in shining armour. A deceptive Fox. A dark park. A white napkin. People dressed in pure white celebrating. A man dressed in pure black lurking. A castle. A hospital. A holiday villa.

Monitors beeping.

An incessant ringing... coming from your right.

A phone.

You open your eyes.

Your hotel room telephone is ringing.

You pick it up and mumble,

"Hello?"

You wipe sleep from your eyes.

"Good morning, Mr Hay. I have a Mr Brendan Brady down here in reception."

You are wide awake in an instant. "Oh."

"He would like to meet with you. What should I tell him?"

You sit up straight. Brendan's here? You look at the time. Nine o'clock exactly. You are disconcerted. You were sure that you would have had to pester him again to arrange a meeting given the fact that he run out on you the two previous times you met.

"I guess you can send him up." You say. "Please."

"Right away."

You catch your reflection in the mirror, looking half asleep and shell-shocked in t-shirt and boxers.

What are you thinking? You can't invite him into your hotel room.

Do. You. Ever. Learn?

"Actually. No, don't let him up. I'll come down. Tell him I'll be fifteen minutes. Tops."

You put the phone receiver down and run into the bathroom.

xo

Ten minutes later you run down to the reception desk. Your hair is still wet; jumper and jeans flung over your damp body.

Brendan is pacing in the lobby. He hasn't spotted you yet so you smile involuntarily. He has come of his own volition. To you. To see you.

_You asked him to, you sentimental idiot. Remember how he left you at the hotel two months ago and at the hospital six years ago? Don't forget that. He is here because he is curious about why you are in town. Don't read more into it than there is._

Brendan stops pacing and looks at the hotel entrance as if he is about to bolt so you drop your smile.

_See. That is what he does; walk out of your life. Get serious. Ignore the ridiculous flutter in your chest. Suppress how seeing him again makes you feel. It is irrelevant._

Totally irrelevant.

_Just do what you need to do._

You walk towards him, clearing your throat loud enough to draw his attention.

He turns round and you immediately feel like you have been thrown under a spotlight. He stares unblinkingly at you as you approach; his eyes taking a leisurely trip up and down your body as if it is his God given right.

You feel yourself go hot under the collar. Fuck's sake. How does he still have that effect on you?

He is as you remember him yesterday; tired, thin and weary. And yet you can still feel a raw energy coming off him. A pull.

He is dressed in a t-shirt, leather jacket, jeans and that strange beanie hat that he was wearing last night. God knows why but when you imagined this reunion in your mind he was moustachioed, wearing one of his crisp suits, full of swagger.

Old Brendan.

"Sorry I kept you waiting. I wasn't expecting you this early." You weren't expecting him at all. You point at your wet hair. "Shower."

"I see." He looks around and vaguely points to your surroundings. "Feels like déjà vu."

That statement is heavily loaded, tightly packed and super charged. Brendan introduced you to the O'Callaghan Davenport years ago. It was your go-to residence when in town with him. You booked it for yourself and Martin for the same reason you suggested dining at _Secondo_; in an effort to replace old Brendan memories with new Martin ones.

It didn't work.

"Better the devil you know." You say. "This hotel has never let me down."

Except it did. It pulled you back to the past when you should have concentrated on your present.

_I love you, Brendan. _Said to the wrong man because of a powerful seven year old flashback.

"So." You extend your hand for a handshake figuring that is the thing people do in these situations but he doesn't take it so you drop your arm again.

"I am sorry I barged in like that last night while you had guests round." You say.

"You didn't interrupt anything." He cocks his head to one side. "You here for business or pleasure? ... Or both?"

"I guess business."

His eyes bore into yours. "I hear congratulations are in order. Is your husband here?"

Surprisingly there is no mocking tone to his words.

You hide the acute stab of pain his words evoke. You do not want to speak to him about Martin, the wedding ceremony and what happened so you steer the conversation into safer territory.

"No. Look, I thought we could maybe go to the coffee shop round the corner, you know. To talk."

He looks baffled that you haven't grabbed the opportunity to brag about Martin with both hands. Last time you met every other word you uttered to him was about how happy and in love you were with the Scotsman.

"I'm hungry." You say pointlessly.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets. He suddenly looks really pale, like he is going to keel over. "I, uh, I've had breakfast."

You don't hide your scepticism at his words. He looks like he could do with a meal or five.

"Fine. You can watch me eat." You say with more confidence than you feel before leading the way out of the hotel and making the short journey to the shop next door.

You are acutely aware of his presence by your side but you say nothing to each other until you walk through the coffee shop's doors and towards the counter.

"Take a seat. I'll get it." You say. "What are you having?"

"Coffee. Black." He says.

Brendan was always a tea man. Heavy on the milk, easy on the sugar. If that has changed about him, what else has?

He takes in your surprised expression and says, "Milk sticks in my throat."

You nod doubtfully before making your order. You get yourself an orange juice, a mocha coffee, an apple lattice, a brownie and a slice of lemon cake.

When you sit opposite him and place your tray down, he raises that familiar eyebrow of his at your spread of food.

You wrap the brownie in a napkin and put it aside. That's a snack for later. Then you pick the piece of cake with your hands ignoring the small fork on the plate. You take a huge bite and nearly groan in pleasure because this is the first thing you have eaten in about twenty-four hours, what with your stomach being in knots.

It tastes bloody delicious.

You catch him hiding a smile.

"What?" You say with your mouth full.

"Nothing." He looks at your lips as you munch away. "I forgot how you get with food. Don't know how you aren't twenty stone."

"Oh." You say and swallow. "I've got a fast metabolism, me. Plus I go to the gym now so-"

You feel embarrassed all of a sudden but the pull of hunger is too great so you polish off the cake in no time.

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and lean back in your seat. He is yet to touch his coffee. He drums the table with his fingers then runs his thumb and index finger over his non-existent moustache.

A nervous tick.

"So where is Martin?" He asks.

You feel uncomfortable under his gaze; conscious that your body language might give something away. So you pick up the apple lattice, take a bite out of it and take a gulp of orange juice to cover up your awkwardness.

"He is back in Chester." You say, not able to meet his eye once you have swallowed. You stir your mocha furiously and then make a show of licking the spoon clean and setting it down again. You finally look up at him.

"When did you get rid of the 'tache?"

He gives you an odd look. "Completely? About a month ago."

He picks up his coffee mug and gives it a tentative sip.

"It makes you look different." You comment. "Not having it."

There is a frenzied tick in his cheek. "Times change. It had to go."

You nod. "Yeah. Change is good, innit?"

You are trying to convince yourself.

He sits up straight and clears his throat. "Look, Stephen. Why are you here?"

No bullshit. Brendan has cut to the chase.

Your lips suddenly feel dry so you lick them to moisten them up. You can't catch your breath so you try to fill your lungs. When you let it out again it comes out all shaky.

"I want to get closure." Your hands are trembling so you clasp them together and place them on your lap.

He looks blankly at you.

"Closure." He says as if the term is unfamiliar to him.

"I know what happened, Bren. The kidnapping. I know it all. Pete told me."

His face drops. "What?"

"It's not his fault. He kept your secret for six years."

"How did you know-"

"How did I know he was involved? Does it matter?" You ask.

He looks stunned.

"The important thing is that I know now. And anyway you lied to him to."

He calls your bluff. "What do you know?"

You draw a breath.

"I know that for months you and Warren was scrapping over the same bone and that there were bad blood between you. And then one day someone stole £50,000 from him and he thought it were you because of your history so he kidnapped me and held you to ransom. Pete told me you did everything you could to raise the money; cashing money from your bank accounts, pawning some of your things and selling drugs and stuff. But you couldn't get all of it straight away so you went to Warren and he rejected the money you offered him so you decided to stalk him until you were able to follow him to the barn I was kept in. By the time you got there the guy who were working with Warren, he-"

You can't help the vision that flashes through your mind; a factual account of what happened intermixed with your own horrific imagination.

The violent attack.

The rape.

"He hurt you." Brendan says softly. His hands are in white knuckle fists on the table. He looks like he is reliving what he saw too.

You are shaken and upset. "Yeah and you and Pete called an ambulance."

"Yes." He whispers.

"If you hadn't been there, I wouldn't be here now." You say.

He looks you straight in the eye. The depth of pain in them is such that you have to look away again.

"And that man, the one who hurt me... you... took care of him... for me."

He is shocked that you know. "Peter shouldn't have told you that."

"I am not going to tell anyone." You whisper.

He swallows a lump in his throat.

"Are you sorry you did it?" You ask.

He looks around at the relatively quiet establishment. You are the only ones sitting down. The other punters are doing take away. No one appears to be paying attention to your conversation.

"No." You are surprised by the heat and anger behind his voice. "How can I be sorry? I could have lost you because of him, Stephen."

He looks down at his hands; instruments of his crime and you do too.

You don't know what to feel. This is twice. Twice that Brendan has ended someone's life with your safety being claimed as the reason.

You have let him touch you with those homicidal hands before and loved it. You have conveniently forgotten what he is capable of doing with them or maybe you have been secretly thankful that he did what he did. It meant that you were still alive; a father, a friend, a lover.

But twice? Who kills twice without being fucked up in the head?

"I don't expect you to understand, Stephen." He says. "But I would do it again if I had to. For my boys. For you."

You feel a wave of hopelessness wash over you. You stare down at the table knowing you are about to break your promise to yourself. That you won't cry in front of him.

"Look at me, Stephen." You obey his command. Your eyes are red but not tearful yet. "I would have gone through the pain you went through after if I could have."

You hate that you sound like a little boy when you say,

"But you left me to go through it without you." You feel tears start to flow. It is pointless trying to stop them. "You hurt me and you lost me anyway."

He reaches over the table helplessly. You use the sleeve of your top to wipe your face dry.

"Just tell me why you left." You say firmly.

His shoulders slump. "Because you were the perfect target for people who hated me. Who had an issue with me. While we were together I could not guarantee that you wouldn't be threatened or hurt again. It had already happened twice in two years. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't knowingly put your life in danger. So I let you go.

"But then you stepped back into my life a couple of months ago and I remembered what I had given up. I wanted you again and I am sorry I messed you about, Stephen. I couldn't control myself in that moment. I know I'm no good for you and that I can't have you in my life."

He brings his hands up settling them on his beanie before blinking slowly and pushing the hat further onto his head. He looks worn out.

"And anyway you have your husband now."

Husband.

You want to laugh hysterically and shout,

_What husband? Do you see a ring on this finger?_

But you don't. That is not why you are here, you remind yourself.

"You told Pete that you took Warren's money so that you could look like you were to blame for the kidnapping. I'm right, ain't I?"

"I knew there was a chance you might try to find me and get answers for why I left. But if Pete thought I was a completely heartless bastard he and Amy combined would stop you from ever trying to contact me."

It is true. They did. They washed you with negative Brendan propaganda until all you could concentrate on was the shit he put you through.

"Why did you give me the £50,000? Was it guilt money?"

"No. I knew you were struggling and how hard you worked to provide for your kids." He rests his palms on the table. "I asked you to move in with me because I wanted you to but also because I knew it would help you out."

'_I'll think of something, Stephen. Something to make things better for you and yours. I promise.'_

"So when I left Hollyoaks I wanted to give you some financial security."

"I opened the bistro with it." You say.

"I know."

You look at him. "And it's going really well."

He gives the tiniest hint of a smile. "I'm glad."

You look down at your cup of coffee and play with it on its saucer.

_Come on. Get to the point. The reason you have flown out to Dublin to see him._

"I want to thank you, Brendan."

"For what?"

_For doing what you did for me. For saving me. For helping me._

"Everything."

XOXO

**_A week earlier..._**

Your phone rings while you are in the middle of lunch service. Normally you would let it ring but when you see the caller ID you stop what you are doing and step into the courtyard at the back of the bistro.

For a second you think your eyes are deceiving you.

"Martin?" You answer and hold your breath.

Your heart is hammering away. You can't explain how happy you are that he has called.

"I'm going to keep this brief." He says briskly.

This is the first time you have spoken to each other since you went to his parent's house after the aborted wedding ceremony.

Maybe this could be the beginning of building bridges; making steps towards friendship. You know it is selfish of you but you want him back in your life so badly it hurts. Not in a romantic way but as a dear irreplaceable friend.

"I am so happy to hear your voice." You say honestly.

You will always love Martin but not in the way he wants and deserves. He was always destined to be second best where you were concerned.

"How have you been?" He asks.

"Okay." You say.

_Shit. I miss you. You are one of three people who know me inside out and upside down and you always know what to say to make me feel better._

"Liar." He says. "I know you, Ste."

Those words are comforting in their familiarity.

"I'll be okay. Serves me right for what I did." You reply. "How have you been?"

"Like crap if I'm honest. I wake up thinking today is going to be a good day. I'm going to talk to that fit bloke that looks at me at the gym and get back in the game and then I bottle it. I feel like shit again. I go home and eat a take out for one." He sighs. "Take out doesn't compare to the stuff you make."

You grip your phone hard feeling ten times shittier than normal. "I'm sorry."

"I am not calling to guilt trip you." He says, sounding apologetic.

"That's nice to know since half your family have sent me postcards, e-mails and text messages telling me where to go and what they think of me in no uncertain terms. The tweets on the Bistro's page have been..." You feel a wave of sorrow. "Anyway. I had to close the twitter account."

You remember your son running up to you tearfully after being on the computer in your bed room in the small temporary apartment you have moved into since moving out of Martin's place.

_'Daddy, why would someone want you to die slowly of AIDS?'_

"What have they been saying?" Martin asks.

"It's not important."

"I swear it's not my doing, Ste." Martin says and you believe him. He would never stoop so low. "I'll call them off."

"No. Don't. They love you." You say. "I get their anger. I would be too if I were in their shoes. Let them vent."

"Okay. Look. The reason why I am calling you is because I wanted to let you know that I am going on a world trip with my cousin."

"Juan?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Next week. I feel like I need a break to re-assess life and come back focussed."

You know what he means. You feel the same but you can't afford the luxury of something as extravagant as a world trip.

"How long are you going for?"

"Definitely six months. Funds permitting we might stretch it to a whole year."

"Oh." You are devastated. "I hope you have a really good time, Marty."

A whole year away.

Your rock.

Gone.

"Thanks." He says.

"I am really going to miss you."

It is unfair of you to say it but you mean it.

You hear him sigh over the line.

"I'll miss you, too." He says. "But this is a good thing, Ste. We need time apart. If I stayed in Chester I would want to try and get us back together or something humiliating and pitiful like that. A cooling off period is good."

"Maybe you are right."

"I'd like to say bye to the kids if that's okay."

You think that is a good idea. Gives you a chance to say bye to him too. "Yeah. Sure."

"Good. I'll call Amy and hop round to hers before I go."

Oh. He doesn't want to see you. You shouldn't be shocked.

"If you wanted to write to them that's okay, too." You say. "They talk about you."

"Then I'll send them a postcard from time to time."

God. This feels like a divorce.

He hesitates. "You know how everyone always made it seem like I was the one that helped you find your feet?"

"You did." You say, and you will always be grateful.

"I wanted you to know that it wasn't a one way street. You helped me find my feet too. You do know that, don't you?"

"I did?"

"Yeah. Stop acting like you don't know you are awesome."

You get a warm rush at his compliment.

"I was pretty immature before I met you." He clears his throat and then mutters. "So yeah. I have got to go now."

"Will I see you when you get back?" You ask.

But you are too late. He has already hung up.

XOXO

**_Present day (Two months)..._**

You sit up straighter in your seat at the coffee shop.

_Get closure, Ste._

You go through your tick list; the agenda you set out before leaving Chester yesterday-

- 1. Tell Brendan you know exactly what happened.

- 2. Try to establish why he did what he did (leave you/lie to you and Pete).

- 3. Thank him for what he did for you (keeping you alive and giving you money).

- 4. *Square the account*.

- 5. Draw a line under this/ obtain closure/ say a final, definitive goodbye.

Points one to three are ticked off so you reach into your wallet. You take a slip of paper out, place it on the table and slip it over to Brendan.

He unfolds it and when he realises what it is, looks at you in horror.

"I promise you that it won't bounce." You say. "I can have the rest transferred directly into your account by the end of the year plus inflation. I would do it sooner but I hope you understand that, this way, it puts less strain on the business and living expenses. Or if you want I can have that twenty transferred directly into your account. I can take your bank details and wire it later today. That's not a problem."

You are rambling.

"I don't want your money." Brendan says gruffly.

"It's _your_ money." You reply, not understanding why he looks so offended.

"It became your money when I gave it to you." He says.

Now you are starting to get angry. You take the £20,000 banker's draft, grab his hand, squash it into his palm and close his fist over it.

"And I am saying thanks but no thanks." You say.

_I need closure. _

He stands up all of a sudden. He wobbles on his feet but gains his balance quickly.

"This is insulting." He says. He rips the draft in front of your face and throws it into the nearest bin.

"I don't understand why you are so angry, Brendan. You are the one who has just gone on about cutting me lose. Not wanting me in your life. Isn't this what you want? I'm making it easy for you."

He gets up in your face; a ball of rage. The vein on his forehead pops out like nobody's business.

"Are you thick or something?" He shouts so that you feel spit hit your face. You lean away from him but he steps in closer to you. You can hear the fall in volume in the coffee shop as anyone who is in the establishment tunes into your slinging match.

"You think this is what I want, Stephen? You there, miles away with that perfect Scottish husband with your perfect life and me here, wishing things could have been different! Don't presume to know what I want!"

He is right up in your face; your bodies moulded together by his angry verbal attack.

You don't respond because you are shocked by his reaction. Not scared. Just shocked. As the clock ticks you become aware of his proximity.

His eyes change, softening.

Your own drop to his lips that are slightly parted.

You are mesmerised by him.

How does a kiss feel with a tache-less Brendan?

His hands find your chest; touching it lightly, just fingers. You aren't sure if he is going to push you away or trace down your body with them.

"If I could have it my own way everything would be different." He sounds defeated as he drops his hands.

He sighs; minty breath with a hint of bitter coffee. He steps away and you allow yourself to breathe.

He looks winded by his outburst and holds onto his chair firmly.

Is he saying that he wants you and cares for you? Is that what he is implying?

Because you care about him. So fucking much it hurts. Maybe you should tell him that.

_I should tell him Martin isn't an issue anymore, too. Just so he knows. And now that he is on the straight and narrow, at least from what Pete has told me, he doesn't have enemies to worry about. He doesn't need to worry that I'll be hurt because of being with him._

You are crumbling; breaking your resolve to keep Brendan in the past and move forward.

You want to have another go.

You want to be with him.

Like an idiot who cannot learn his lesson.

Like a dumbass you want to be his again and him to be yours.

'_Love makes fools of us all, Ste.'_ Amy said to you. _'Shakespeare said that.'_

_Then I'm the biggest fool ever_, you think.

"Brendan." You say hesitantly. "About Martin..."

He has a wobble on his feet; a bigger one than the one earlier. He falls back into his chair looking suddenly very unwell.

He is hyperventilating, "Stephen, could you get me some water?"

His tries to get his leather jacket off.

"Brendan?" Your voice is etched with concern as you help him out of it. "Are you feeling hot?"

He feels warm to you but it is the boniness of his shoulders that startles you. Brendan has always been lean but never skinny as he is now.

"I'm fine." He gasps. "Water. Please."

You hit panic stations.

You turn to go to the counter but a helpful punter pushes a bottle of water into your hand and uncaps it for you.

"There. It's cool." She says. "I can buy another one."

College kid probably. Emo get up. You vaguely nod at her in thanks.

"Is he okay?" She asks worriedly. "I can call an ambulance if you want."

You hear a thud behind you and when you turn around you see Brendan in a heap on the floor.

His hat has fallen off his head revealing not only his bald head but his lack of eyebrows too. He is completely hairless.

You drop the bottle, spilling water everywhere.

XOXO

**_Seven years ago..._**

"Enough talking. Let's get this stuff off you." Brendan murmurs as he pushes your boxers down and flings them aside.

"We have to sleep. It's gone two." You say but you are smiling. You lift your arms to allow him to take your top off then help him out of his sweats and top.

You pull him into a kiss that heats up quickly. You feel the crucifix poke at your chest as it dangles from his neck.

His arms feel strong on you, hands everywhere, exploring. He suddenly pulls you down to lie on your back then drags you briskly over the bed cover so that you are slap bang in the middle of the bed.

You emit a surprised laugh that dies into a lustful groan the minute he settles his naked weight on you and he devours your mouth with his while tracing your body possessively.

You pull away long enough to express your concerns. "We can't mess the cover too, Bren."

He laughs lightly.

"Oh no. What shall we do about the bed cover?" He feigns mock concern.

You grin. "Dunno."

He kisses a path down your body. "While you have a think about it I'm just going to..."

He sucks on your neck because he knows you love it and hate it in equal measure. You love it because it feels amazing and the bruise that will appear later will remind you of tonight. You hate it because you will have to come up with some excuse for how you got it to your nosy work colleagues back in Hollyoaks after this long weekend away is over. You will also have to deal with Amy's disapproving look because she will know exactly who gave it to you.

You can hear her already,

'_I don't know why you let him treat you like a dirty little secret.'_

"Stop. I'll get a love bite." You say half heartedly, then groan at the thing he does with his tongue right there. "What am I going to tell the guys at work?"

He stills his actions pushing himself off you and gives you a steady indecipherable look. "Do they ask?"

You nod. Like, duh. What planet is he living on? They live for gossip.

"What do you say?"

"As little as possible." You comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I think they think something is going on between me and Doug though."

He emits a short sharp laugh. "Dougie-boy? Please!"

Brendan has a big dose of the green-eyed monster about your blossoming friendship with the American college drop-out.

You are irritated by this. If it wasn't for him wanting to keep your relationship a secret you would be happy to flaunt _him_ as your boyfriend.

"What's wrong with Doug? He's okay." You protest. You have a feeling you'll become close friends with time.

Brendan dips his head to tongue your ear and mutters, "He is alright if you like them preppy with granddad's dress sense. Didn't think that was your type."

"He's not. Anyway he is straight so you don't need to feel threatened."

"Whose feeling threatened?" He asks seductively then ventures to your tattoo and flutters his tongue over one wing. "Do you want to know my type?"

"Yes." You groan and press your hand onto the back of his head.

"Skinny guys with..." You relish the sensation of his lips near your hip bone, "shit tattoos."

"It's not shit!"

"Shush." He grins at you. "From now on..." He gives your ink a light bite "...this is going to be called _Brendan's corner_. No one else can touch it."

"The tattoo?" You ask.

Your breath catches at the intensity of his look. "You got that?"

"Yeah." You whisper.

He exhales deeply. "And, if anyone asks how you got," He points in the direction of your neck. He means the bruise you'll develop come tomorrow. "Don't lie."

"You are joking right? That means they'll find out it's you." You say in case he hasn't realised.

He kisses your tattoo once more and then tracks up to dip his tongue into your belly button.

You gasp as he traces a path lower over your treasure trail. "Bren? I said they'll find out about us."

But he doesn't answer you so you know he is done talking.

You hold your breath, anticipating the feel of his lips on your cock. Instead he parts your legs and works the skin of your inner thigh. It makes you squirm with need. So near to target and yet so far.

"Come on." You moan as he gets near your balls but not near enough.

"I'm waiting for your idea, by the way..."

"Huh?" You say vaguely.

He kisses the soft skin, high on your inner thigh. "You know, the solution..." Kiss on the other side. "... to our bed cover messing problem. You were going to come up with an idea."

Kiss.

You groan in frustration.

"I've gone blank." You sigh. "Maybe it isn't a big deal."

You close your eyes and savour his lips on you. His hand comes up to your stomach feeling the flex of your muscles as you push your hips up to him.

"I don't think it's a big deal either." He murmurs.

"Good." You bring him up to you.

You kiss him and he settles his legs between your spread-eagled ones that you bring up and out to make room for him.

He has a glint in his eyes when he looks down at you.

"So in summary, we don't care what happens to the bed cover. I don't care what you tell people about us. And you have agreed that this..." He points at your tattoo, "... is called Brendan's corner."

You grin incredulously. "So like even if I told Mitzeee that would be okay?"

Hollyoaks's one woman gossip machine.

This is turning out to be the best long weekend ever. You love Dublin and how Brendan has been out here. It feels like you are in some alternate universe where he has let his true colours show; to Eileen, his kids, Paddy and the staff of _Secondo_ and the _O'Callaghan Davenport_. You have almost felt like a normal couple.

And now he is telling you, you can be open about you and him back in Hollyoaks.

You want to pinch yourself.

"Or even Jacqui and Rhys?" You grin. "Like I could just say, Bren and me tried this really nice Italian restaurant when we went back to Dublin over the weekend to see his kids."

He groans. "Are we still talking? There has been a disproportionately large amount of chat compared to sex going on in this bed tonight, Stephen. I am not happy about that."

"We've already done it twice, Bren"

"Once." He says. "Once in the bed. Once in the shower."

You grin.

"So, can we fuck already?" He growls seductively while encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist by caressing and lifting them at the same time. You anchor them in place over the small of his back by hooking your ankles together.

"Yes." You whisper just before your lips meet.

Your arms go round his neck, coaxing him down for a kiss.

You could kiss him forever for giving you the greatest gift tonight. You swear.

He has made you the happiest man in the world.

At. Fucking. Last.

His actions appear seamless. The rolling on of the condom. The single swipe of lube over you and the more generous coating over his rock hard dick. The lining up and baited breath of anticipation. The direct gaze as he pushes in.

The initial sensation of being stretched is less pronounced now that he has fucked you a couple of times already but the pleasure and pressure is still there. You groan when you feel him graze against that sensitive spot and he lets out a dirty groan when he is fully seated in you.

He pushes against you until he can't bury himself any deeper.

You can't help but moan in ecstasy, "You're so deep! Bren!"

You close your eyes and hang on to him for dear life, burying your head into neck and inhaling his scent.

You might float away if not. Sprout wings and fly or something. Just you and him, into the night sky. Free and uninhibited without a care in the world. You feel completely unshackled now. You can both be who you want to be.

No restrictions. Freed from his secrets and lies.

"Do you like that?" he whispers into your ear.

You do. You can't put into words how much being with him makes you feel so you open your eyes and tumble into a sea of blue; the bluest eyes you have ever seen.

You reach up and open your mouth wide tangling your tongue with his, relishing the burn of his moustache against your cheeks and upper lip.

"Stephen." He groans as he grabs hold of your dick, which is trapped and erect between your bodies. "I said, do you like that?"

"Yes." You pant knowing that it never gets better than when you do this with him. "I love it."

He begins to thrust into you, slowly, unhurriedly. "Good."

He fists your cock in time with his gyrations.

You lick your lips and stare up at him trying to focus on his flushed face with pupils blown wide by lustful intent.

There is a hint of a smile on your face because you are about to say those three little words that used to make him lash out in anger and fear at first but have gradually become words he has grown to accept and maybe even look forward to.

You can't stop yourself from blurting them out now because they are true and honest.

"I love you, Brendan."

XOXO

**_Present Day (Two months)..._**

You are in bits.

You don't understand what's happening. All you know is that when you jump out of the ambulance and the EMTs rush Brendan into the emergency department, you feel like the world is disintegrating around you.

A doctor comes up to you and bombards you with questions. Easy ones and ones that wouldn't be difficult to someone who knows him well but are impossible for you.

"What's his name?" Brendan Brady.

"How old is he?" Forty.

"Was he complaining of any particular symptoms?" No. I don't think so. He is thinner than I remember. Is that important?

"How long has he been unwell?" He looked run down a couple of months ago but I didn't want to comment on it because I didn't think it were my business.

"Is he on regular medication?" I don't know.

"Does he have any ongoing medical problems?" I don't think so. I don't know.

"Does he smoke?" He didn't use to. No.

"Does he drink alcohol?" Yeah. Probably a little more than he should. Mainly whiskey.

"Does he have any family?" Yes.

You call Declan because his is the only number you have.

The mere mention of you being in St Vincent's Accident and Emergency department with his father is enough for him to hang up on you, presumably to hotfoot it over.

He rounds up the troops.

Cheryl, Paddy, Nicole and he all arrive with ten minutes of each other.

You are relieved they are here. They all, except for Nicole, pull you into a reassuring embrace. You must look like you are about to have a breakdown.

You tell them how he collapsed on you while you were at the coffee shop and how you accompanied him during the quick journey over to the hospital.

You end up finding out stuff about Brendan from their frantic conversation with the doctor who was interrogating you earlier. Stuff you didn't know; that you wish you could have guarded your ears against. Certain words in particular ricochet in your brain.

Chemo.

Constant nausea.

Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia.

Two months.

Worrying weight loss.

Hopeful of complete remission.

Oncology outpatient appointment.

White cell count.

Hair loss.

Nutritional shakes.

"Is dad going to be okay?"

Declan's question brings you back to reality.

_Is he going to be okay? _

Two months. Brendan has known he had leukaemia for two months. That was round about the time you were last in town. Did he already know then and not tell you?

Leukaemia. That's the one that kids get, isn't it? What business does a grown man like Brendan have getting it? In fact, why is he sick at all?

Why him?

"We need to wait for his blood tests to come back." The doctor says. "In the mean time we are rehydrating him and we will be contacting the oncologists to make sure it isn't a complication of his chemo or something else."

"Something else?" Paddy asks anxiously.

The doctor shrugs evasively.

"Like progression of his disease?" Nicole whispers. "Is that what you are getting at? Is he going to die?"

You numbly push your way through his family and friends, unthinking and unable to hear any more.

You head for the exit.

"Ste, love, where are you going?"

You turn blankly to Cheryl and then keep walking away from the resuscitation area of the A and E department.

You don't go far; just far enough to not hear beeping monitors. Near reception. Your legs are too heavy. You are too disorientated. You lean on a wall and let your eyes fall shut.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

This can't be happening.

This has to be a dream because there has never been a point in your life where you have envisaged this; Brendan weakened and outplayed by something or someone else. Not even cancer.

He has always been the man at the top. The king of the castle. Invincible in your eyes. And you have always felt like the fallible one.

Maybe this is a lesson. You are both invincible and fallible at the same time.

Survivors and victims.

You slide to the floor and hope that right now Bren is fighting. Standing his ground and not letting some stupid disease get the better of him.

After a few minutes, someone gently touches your arm. "Hey, Ste."

You open your eyes.

It's Declan. He looks like he has had a good cry, bless him. "Dad's asking for you."

"What?"

"Yeah. He's awake." He gives you a pitiful attempt at a smile. "And you know how he gets if he is kept waiting so..."

He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet then drags you back towards the resuscitation area.

He rubs his eyes tiredly and says, "Oh and by the way, I've told the docs and nurses that you are his boyfriend so don't blow the story. Yeah?"

He pulls you into a hug.

You don't know what else to say but,

"Yeah. Okay."

He opens the door to A and E resus and points at the corner. You walk into the partitioned room towards the first of four beds. A nurse and a doctor are working around Brendan.

When you approach they nod. "We'll be back in five minutes." They quietly disappear after closing the curtains around you.

You turn to look at Bren. Given that the last time you saw him he was unconscious on a stretcher he is looking better even though better is like death warmed up.

He turns his palm uppermost on the bed sheet; an invitation for you to go closer to him. So you do but then he wriggles his fingers and you realise that he wants you to hold his hand.

So you do, careful not to displace the drip line.

"Hi." You say. "They said you wanted to see me."

Your fucking tears. No wonder he thinks you need protecting. Always with the tears when you are around him!

You are a fucking emotional wreck because you thought you had lost him.

"Yeah." He says. His voice sounds course. He gives your hand a squeeze.

"So I'm here." You say.

"I see you."

You look around at the machines and drips. They make you shudder. You were once the one in bed hooked up to all manner of gadgets and gismos.

"So that was a dramatic way to tell you that I have cancer."

You are annoyed by light-hearted tone. Why is he making light of such a serious situation? "Yeah. Pretty dramatic."

"Ta-da." He says.

He rubs your palm and plays with your fingers the way he used to.

You feel like you can't catch your breath when you ask,

"Are you going to be okay?"

You hold on to him, not losing his gaze in case he is about to tell you bad news. You aren't sure you are ready to hear it.

"Didn't your husband tell you something about knocks to your body making you stronger in the end and becoming Superman?"

"He was only talking about bones." You say feeling tears falling and not bothering to cover them up.

He suddenly pulls his hand away from yours. You feel the loss of his touch immediately. The mention of Martin must have prompted him to pull away.

"Where's your wedding band?"

He stares at your hand.

Oh.

So he has finally noticed...

You look at both your bare hands and then back at him.

"Yeah. I was going to tell you..."

You sniff back your tears.


	32. The Reunion Epilogue Brendan 7

**Here it is folks after several re-writes, then shelving because of work and life commitments. It's ridic long but I hope you like it.**

**hugs,**

**chips**

**x**

**xoxo**

You wake up feeling sore all over. You don't bother to open your eyes but you half-heartedly attempt to sit up in bed. It takes more effort than it's worth so you collapse back onto the firm mattress and soft pillows.

After a moment you find yourself drifting off to sleep again but the footsteps outside your bedroom force you to open your eyes and stare at the closed door.

The person on the other side fumbles with the door handle then swears under his breath before opening the door and stepping in.

"Good Morning." He says as he walks up to you carrying a tray with a radiant smile.

You sit up gingerly and rub your eyes tiredly. "Breakfast in bed?"

He sits next to you on the bed, carefully placing the tray between you.

A pot of tea, partly spilled, two mugs, French toast and diced fruit.

"Um hum. How was your sleep?" He leans over to you and kisses you gently. It's the kind of kiss that lingers; where lips take their time to part. He smiles at you then sits back and licks his lips.

"You get a whiff of citrusy shower gel and taste his minty breath on your tongue.

"You've had a shower and brushed your teeth." You mutter.

"I've been up ages." He explains. "I didn't want to wake you. I thought you needed the rest."

"Not fair, Stephen." Your voice is low. Seductive. "I smell of stale sex. You smell of meadows."

He blushes.

"So what have we got here?" You say looking at the spread.

"I made us something to get our energy going for today."

"You mean after last night?"

"Yeah." He goes even redder. "I guess."

Ah yes. Last night. All night. What fun between the sheets! Earth-shattering. Bone-tingling. Mind-boggling.

You look at him in his unnecessary t-shirt and boxer briefs. He got dressed. Not good. You are still butt naked and good to go if need be. His hair is deliciously dishevelled and wet from his shower. His cheeks are still a little stubble burnt. His lips are full from the intensity of your kisses. He has that relaxed air he always gets after being well and truly fucked.

Just thinking about that gets your juices flowing.

"You liked last night?" You ask as you reach a hand out to grab hold of his top to pull him to you.

His pupils dilate as he leans over the tray towards you. "Yeah. Course. I loved it."

You run your hands over his torso and abs through the fabric and he responds with that sexy smile of his.

"You want to be careful, looking at me like that, Stephen. You'll get touched... again."

"Like, it's been a while since we done it like that, innit? It's like you've got all your strength back."

"I'd say that was Olympic fit." You surprised yourself. You have been feeling like death warmed up recently and yet right now you feel reborn. In perfect health. The old you.

You bring his hand slowly down your bare chest, over your treasure trail and under the covers.

Looks like your old sex drive is back too. His eyes widen as his hand greets your semi erect cock.

"Again?" He whispers in shock.

"What can I say, Stephen? I've got a serious amount of catching up to do." You lift a suggestive eyebrow at him.

His hand doesn't make a move to work your dick though.

"Dr Scott said to take it easy." He says hesitantly. "And plus breakfast is going to get cold."

You coax him into placing his hand on your cock and encourage him to rub it. His mouth opens slightly as he teasingly runs his fingers over the length of your shaft.

"Dr Scott doesn't understand that this is essential to my recovery. It's complicated science." You mutter, settling back into the bed, hands behind your head with your eyes shut.

"I don't get it either." You can hear the smile in his voice. "But if it helps."

He grabs hold of your dick firmly and you groan when he properly gets to it; slowly stroking you, rubbing the head of your cock and then working the shaft until your dick tents the material of the covers. You harden under his ministrations.

"It helps." You groan.

He pulls his hand away suddenly just as you are really getting into it and you have to bite your lower lip to stop the moan of disappointment.

"But you've got to eat something first, Bren. Doctors orders. Remember?"

Clever fucking move. He has just coerced you. That's your thing! Sex in exchange for eating his breakfast.

"Fucking doctors."

"Try the _pain perdu._"

You stare at the French toast and inhale its enticing aromas. Still, not quite as enticing as Stephen. "You mean eggy bread."

He laughs. "No! I mean _pain perdu._ It's way posher than eggy bread!"

"I doubt that."

He narrows his eyes at you defiantly.

"It is."

"How do you make it?"

"You get a brioche loaf, right, and you cut thick slices out of it. Then you mix eggs and sugar in a large bowl. You slowly pour in a mixture of milk, cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla extract in it. I also put a pinch of salt to balance the sweetness. You can put in a splash of cognac, or Grand Marnier or summat as well for taste if you want. Then you soak the brioche in the egg mixture..."

"Then you fry it?"

He nods.

"That's eggy bread!" You say definitively.

He frowns at you and you give him a shit-eating grin.

He picks one up and gives you a crafty look. Then he presses it against your mouth until you are forced to take a bite. He follows that bite up with a spoonful of freshly diced sweet fruit.

You munch away while he stares expectantly at you. Once you have swallowed he asks,

"So? What do you think?"

Bloody. Amazing.

You cock your head to one side and act as if you are deliberating your answer.

"Well?"

"I think I need to try a bit more."

"Okay." He grins.

He feeds you both breakfasts in silence using his fingers. Alternate bites.

You then him. Fruit then French toast_._

"It's not bad you know." You say when you are nearly through.

"I know." He grins.

Surprisingly you don't feel nauseous the way you normally do. How strange. On any given day you would be half way to the toilet bowl by now. Maybe it is because Stephen is here. Back with you. Distracting you.

He holds your gaze as he feeds you. You open up for him when he brings a morsel of food to your lips. You nod in appreciation. He smiles with satisfaction. You lick and suck his fingers clean of the juice from the fruit. He stares at you with wide eyes as you take liberties and seal your mouth around them, sucking them into the tight heat of your mouth, mimicking what you can do to his cock.

It gets sensual.

He teases you with the last bite food, putting it close to your lips only to swallow it himself with a cheeky smile. You kiss him, your tongue exploring the corners of his mouth to taste the flavours and he melts against you. One arm curls around your neck to bring you close so that the tray precariously rocks on the bed between you, causing the tea to nearly spill and the crockery to clang together.

You both compose yourselves and pull apart.

His look is intense as he puts the tray on the side table.

"Come to bed." You whisper, your voice thick with anticipation.

"I'm already in bed." He grins.

"You know what I mean."

He pushes down the covers resting over your lower half then crawls over to you to straddle your bare thighs.

He rests his hands on your chest then whips his top off, flinging it to one side of the bed.

There is something different about Stephen today but you can't pinpoint it and you are too consumed by desire to think too deeply on it.

You sit up to kiss him. Your hands travel over his whole body, hearing his gasps and sighs as they skim over his sensitive nipples and over the plains of his slim but toned chest and abs. Then you run them over his back. Your fingers still as you feel a small raised area over the skin of each of his shoulder blades.

"Ah, yes!" Stephen murmurs against your lips then keeps kissing you, clawing at your skin, but you make him stop and blindly feel the area of skin in question.

"What's that?" You say as you touch the two bumps on his back.

He gives you a curious look. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes."

"Bren. You have them too." He looks at you as if you have gone mad.

He gently runs his hands over your shoulder blades and suddenly you can feel what he means. They feel so sensitive.

"Why do I have them?" You ask.

He gently kisses you and you can smell his sweet breath he is so close. "Because that is how we were born."

He pushes you down onto the bed and kisses down your neck and along your shoulder. You look at him in confusion while he lifts your arms over your head, pinning you down.

"There is nothing wrong with what we do." He whispers to you.

"What do you mean?" He is not making sense and you get an intense feeling of foreboding.

He kisses your mouth. "This. I am so happy that you are not hiding anymore. I love it when we are together." He kisses your neck. "I love that I can call you mine to people." He kisses you over your heart. "Honest."

"Stephen." Your heart is beating a mile a minute.

"We can be who we are, Bren. Isn't that amazing?"

He stares intensely at you then continues to tease you with small kisses everywhere his lips can reach.

Why does this feel a bit like déjà vu? You have an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach like something bad is going to happen. Or is it that you are thinking of what has already happened to him. The brutality he sustained only because he was someone you cared about.

"It's not that easy." You say.

You run your hands over his arms to prove your point. To show him his scars. To hit home with the truth. To remind him that being in a relationship with you can be downright dangerous. But he hasn't got any scars on his arms. You inspect them closely, skimming your fingers over his skin carefully with bewilderment etched on your face.

Where have they gone?

"Bren?" He looks worried but you ignore him.

You scrutinise his legs. The long unmissable scar over his left lower leg has miraculously disappeared too as have the other finer ones.

You push him onto his back and strip him out of his boxer briefs so that he lies naked under you. He laughs in bemusement when you check him from head to toe, feeling every inch of his familiar skin. He relishes in your exploration. He doesn't understand its purpose.

He is scar-free. You turn his head to one side briskly. Even the one at the back of his head is gone.

"Brendan, what's up with you?" He pushes your hand away and frowns slightly at your odd behaviour.

"Where are your scars?" You ask him frantically.

"What scars?"

"The ones on your arms and legs. The one at the back of your head."

"Are you having a laugh?" He laughs and wraps his legs around your waist, pulling you down onto him. "Stop it. It's not funny."

He thinks you are joking with him.

"Come on." He kisses you, enticingly. "Stop messing around."

He rolls you over so that he is on top again then descends to pay lip service to your chest. Your back arches up off the bed as he teases your nipples with his tongue.

Is it the chemo you are on? Is that what is messing with your head right now? What other explanation can there be?

When he grinds himself on you, you get distracted from your thoughts.

"Don't be weird." He whispers heatedly and takes your hands to rest them on his hips. He tongues your neck and kisses you making you feel sensitive all over.

There must be a logical explanation for the disappearance of his scars but right now your brain is fogged up with lustful thoughts. Once you have found release you will make sense of this.

You growl softly when he works his tongue over the skin of your abdomen. When he sits up you look down at his cock which is sitting, hard and unattended, on your belly. You spit into your palm and fist it slowly. He groans and rocks up into your hand, setting a pace, before shuffling down so that your cocks are next to each other, rigid and thick. He grabs them both in his palm sizing them up.

Yours wins in terms of size but his is beautiful; that single vein down the middle, the thick head. You watch as he jerks you both off with one hand. He closes his eyes as the sensation of friction overwhelms him and he leans over for a brief kiss. You grab his butt cheeks, the firm swell of them in your palms and he gyrates against you. When your fingers creep and find his hole his eyes spring open and he gasps. You rub against him knowing that is all it takes for him to want to get fucked by you.

"Yes." He sighs.

Precum is already collecting at the slit of his cock; crystal clear and viscous. You swipe at it making him hiss. Then you lick it, tasting him. That seems to turn him on because he quickly moves down your body and his mouth descends on your cock, running over the underside before taking it down his throat with a skill that came from intense compulsory lessons from you. No wonder he is this good! He deep-throats you with every plunge until he runs out of breath and pulls off you. He pants while looking at you and fists your wet glistening cock.

Those eyes of his will be the death of you. They are so transparent. They give away his lustful thoughts.

Once he has his breath back he descends on you once again but you realise that you are too close to cumming so you switch it up.

"No." You stroke his cheek. "My turn."

You turn him over without preamble.

He looks dazed but goes with it as he settles onto his elbows and knees. You get behind him and push his hips back towards you and spread his knees apart before stuffing your mouth on his tight hole.

"Fuck, Brendan!" He moans loudly and then grinds down on you. "Fuck!" He repeats.

You push his butt cheeks apart and lap at him, like a thirsty dog, feeling the twitchiness of his sphincter against you. You lightly bite a round bum cheek confusing him into pulling away slightly then pushing back to your lips again. You press your tongue flat on his entrance and let him move his hips to rub himself against you. Your dick throbs heavily between your legs and his bounces rigidly too due to his movements.

"Ready?" You whisper passionately.

You can't ignore your need any longer so you grab the lube bottle.

"Yes." He sinks his head into a pillow.

You pour some lube onto your fingers and push one into him. All the way in. He groans and relaxes against it. How very different to the first time when he freaked out and nearly bottled it.

You push a second finger in soon after, feeling his smooth tightness as you slide in. He moans sensually and turns around to stare at you with glazed eyes. You kiss one butt cheek and then the other and smile at him.

"Your ears have gone red." You say pointlessly. Actually he has gone red all over from the adrenaline rush.

He smiles back.

"Have they?" He sighs when your fingers begin to drive into him over and over again until he is writhing, fucking himself onto them.

You pull out to quickly grab a condom, put it on and lube up. He reaches back to stroke your sheathed erection. It isn't long before that isn't enough and you take over. You rest your dick in the cleft of his arse cheeks.

The anticipation is killing you as you see your target; pink, tight but giving. You push against it and the head of your cock breaches his tight ring, eliciting a gasp out of him.

"You okay?" You ask when you notice that he is fisting the sheets with white knuckles and his toes are curling impossibly. Maybe he is sore after last night's exertions.

"Yeah." He sighs. "It's so good!"

Fine then. You push his shoulders down onto the bed forcefully, making him gasp in surprise. Then kneel behind him taking your time burying your cock in him. You watch as it slowly disappears into his heat. You can hear his muffled moans despite his head being stuffed into the pillow.

You tap his arse and lean over him to whisper into his ear. "Stay right there, Stephen."

One hand keeps a firm hold of his hip. The other feels the peculiar raised bumps near his shoulder blades. When you touch them, he jolts like an electric current has run through him.

"They're really sensitive right now." He mumbles.

You thrust unhurriedly into him and he spreads his knees further apart. You get mesmerised by him; how he takes every inch of you with just the right amount of friction as if he is a custom made glove. A perfect fit. You start slow but it is a pace your impatient body can't maintain forever so eventually you both collapse down, he that he is flat on the bed and you cover him with your weight. You settle between his legs and continue rocking into him, feeling him under you, nothing separating your bodies, his fingers intertwined with yours.

His breath is your own and the flutter of his pulse in his neck is tantalisingly close so you kiss it. You skim your hands over every bit of available skin as you plunge into him and hear the sweet sounds of his pleasure.

When you realise that your weight must be crushing him you roll him onto his side and continue to drive into him. You wrap a hand round to stroke his cock and he rewards you with a whimper of overwhelming passion.

"Oh my God!" He sighs.

You kiss between his shoulder blades. You blink and look at them closely. When you touch them again Stephen has the same reaction he did earlier. That spasm of bliss.

He pulls away from you and turns to grin at you. "Don't. I'll cum."

How curious.

He moves away from you. You lie on your back and he hops on you to impale himself on your dick once again. You grit your teeth at the sensation of being completely engulfed by him so quickly. He bounces on you with energy.

"Ah, yes! Brendan!" He calls out breathlessly.

You feel up the muscles of his arms and stomach, tracing the contours and the flex and extension of them.

You grip his waist firmly as you feel your orgasm building up. You steady him then slam up into him ferociously ready to rub one out of both of you. His face is one of pure ecstasy as he holds on for dear life as you pummel into him. You are on the edge. This close to cumming. And so is he. You feel him contract around your cock as he goes completely rigid above you, like a primed bow.

He digs his fingers into your sides almost painfully and cries out, "I can't keep it in, Brendan!"

He sprays a thick wad of cum over your chest and stomach, jolting uncontrollably from the orgasm like he is being zapped by a _Taser_ gun. You cum soon after, propelled by him, a muted shout escaping your lips. You push up into him while gripping his hips firmly so that he remains fully seated on you. You don't think you have ever cum so hard. You think you are going to pass out.

You fall back into the bed as the last of your involuntary shudders runs its course. You are panting harshly as you close your eyes and wipe your sweaty brow feeling toneless and ineffective all of a sudden.

Fuck.

That. Was. Intense.

Stephen didn't even have to jerk off to cum. You fucked him into an orgasm.

You emit a small smug laugh as he collapses onto you and kisses you.

"That was hot." You whisper against his lips.

"Yeah."

He rests his head into the croak of your neck so that you feel his breath on you. His body feels heavy on yours and his breathing slows down to the point where you figure he has fallen asleep. That wouldn't be unusual. Stephen has always been one for a post fuck nap but then he mumbles quietly,

"I'm buzzing, me."

You hear a rustling sound behind him and feel a breeze wash over you, like a fan is pointed in your direction. You open your eyes. You are faced with a flash of brilliant fluttering white.

You push Stephen off you powerfully and scramble off the bed. A pair of long large white wings is sprouting from his shoulder blades as if it is the most normal thing in the world. They flap behind him majestically while he looks at you apprehensively from the bed; naked, flushed and sweaty.

"I didn't mean to scare you." He says, looking like a fallen angel. "I said I couldn't keep it in though."

You look up at him in confusion and trepidation. You point at his wings. "I thought you meant cumming. Not _that_!"

You stare at the _ala_ in horror.

"I just felt so happy."

"You shouldn't do that, Stephen." You say. You feel a twist of pain in your stomach. You take the condom off your flaccid cock, throw it away and march up to bed.

"Put them away." You command as he sits on your bed looking up at you with tears forming in his eyes.

"No!" He says defiantly. "I have nothing to be ashamed of and neither should you."

He leaps up into the air and lands softly on the floor aided by the powerful flap of his wings.

"And I know you are worried that someone is going to hurt me or summat but you shouldn't. It is beyond your control. I am happy like this, Brendan. Especially when I am with you." He smiles encouragingly at you and takes your hands in his. "Dead happy."

You can't join him in that emotion because that feeling of foreboding is back.

Something bad is going to happen to him.

"I just want you and me to be together." He says. He pulls you into a hug. You comb your fingers through his hair and then touch the downy feathers of his wings.

Stephen kisses your cheek and whispers, "See. They're not so bad."

You relax against him. It is only when he reaches behind your back that you realise that you have sprouted your own wings. Jet black ones. You look curiously over your shoulder and let them fan out.

You look at Stephen.

"This is a dream. Isn't it?" You say, finally putting two and two together.

"Don't be silly."

It is though. It must be. You close your eyes and open them again. Stephen is still in your arms looking at you as if you are the centre of his universe. You still both have _ala._ You are still in your bedroom in your apartment in Dublin.

"You okay?" He asks.

Your apartment looks normal and other than the absence of scars Stephen looks the same. You stare at yourself in the floor length mirror; two grown men wearing nothing with fucking wings. You body isn't the weedy disease and chemo eaten one you have become used to but the robust athletic physique you used to possess.

"Or we are dead." You say when you look back at him. "That's it isn't it."

"The doctors said that the chemo would take it out of you." He says looking upset and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Maybe you need to rest some more."

You rub your eyes briefly. Maybe he is right.

"Everything is going to be okay, Brendan." He says with a smile.

You kiss him as if it might be the last time then you stare into those blue eyes of his.

"I don't want to lose you, Stephen." You say gruffly.

He smiles up at you and you pull him into a tight hug, combing one hand through his hair. You look beyond his shoulder at the bed; at the t-shirt that he took off before you had sex.

It was blue but this one is black with a neon pink logo on it that says _Chez-Chez. _It is stained by old blood. You step back removing your hands from him. They are dripping with fresh red blood.

You stare in horror at Stephen.

He is still standing but his eyes are closed. The wings are gone and his scar free body is suddenly covered in open bleeding cuts, bruises, dirt and grime just like you remember from the barn all those years ago.

"Stephen?" You cry out in distress.

He doesn't respond to you so you shake him briskly but he remains unmoving, rooted to the spot.

"Stephen!" You shout. "Stephen!"

XOXO

"It's alright, love." A voice says soothingly. "You're alright."

A gentle hand on your forehead.

"Stephen." You whisper. You hear his name on your lips and picture him in your mind, right there; leaning over you.

Your eyes open slowly and are met by four people huddled over you: Declan, Cheryl, Nicola, and Paddy. Your army of meddlers. Every member just as annoying yet dear to you as the next.

Stephen isn't here.

"Mate, you've slept for ages." Paddy says gently. "You alright? Want me to get the nurse?"

It takes you a second to remember where you are. You feel so disorientated for a minute. You came into casualty yesterday morning via ambulance and you were admitted onto the medical oncology ward for investigation and rehydration. Stephen was with you or at least he had been at the cafe round from the hotel and then again in the emergency department.

So where is he now?

God, you feel weak. Snippets of your dream flash through your mind leaving you feeling shaken. It may have been bizarre but it still felt real.

Fucking Cheryl and her story.

"How are you feeling?" She asks.

"Ready to enter Ireland's Strongest Man." You say hoarsely. "What time is it?"

Your son is staring at you anxiously, chewing away at a nail.

"Nearly two-thirty." Niks says.

God. You have slept for ages. You vaguely remember coming to the ward yesterday and seeing the doctors on ward round in the evening and then this morning but otherwise you have struggled to stay awake.

There is one question on your mind. _'Where is Stephen?'_ But you worried to receive an unpleasant answer.

"So what's the verdict?" You ask instead.

"You should be able to go home tomorrow or the day after, they reckon." Paddy says.

"You'll need to see Dr Scott in clinic soon though for a check up." Cheryl says.

You slowly sit yourself up. "Why?"

"Because you are obviously getting really bad side effects from the chemo and he wants to see whether your symptoms are improving or whether he needs to change your regime." She wipes her wet cheeks.

"That sounds like trading in a gold standard with second best." You say.

Niks clears her throat and says, "Paddy and me will step out for a bit. Give you guys some time alone."

She kisses your forehead and he squeezes your shoulder before leaving the room.

"Is it bad news?" You ask once your friends have gone.

"No! Don't be silly. You are already looking so much better." Cheryl says. "By the way your mum called. She's coming a little later."

You groan. "Please kill me now."

You regret your words immediately. Your son's face drops. After a moment he finally breaks his silence,

"I don't know why you are always so hard on grandma, dad. She has never done anything to you."

"I am not always hard on her." Only usually.

Cheryl takes your hand. "She is worried sick. What if this had happened when you were all alone at home, Bren?" She gets a wave of emotion. "What if Ste hadn't been with you?"

The mere mention of his name acts like a bolt of lightning through you.

Your mouth feels parched when you allow yourself to ask. "Where is he?"

Declan says. "He flew back to England an hour ago."

You feel numb. Stephen has gone without so much as a proper goodbye as if nothing you said yesterday mattered. As if it wasn't enough.

"I think he wanted to stay, love, but the flight was pre-booked and he had the kids to get back to and the business. He looked cut up about it. I think he would have stayed if he-"

"Shut up, Chez." You say.

You know she is lying. The truth is he didn't want to stay.

Stephen has gone. Full stop.

You feel an overwhelming sense of grief that you don't want to reveal to your family. They can't know how much it upsets you.

"Get out." You whisper.

"What?" Dec says.

"Both of you. Get the fuck out."

"Brendan, don't be silly."

"GET OUT!" You shout.

They look at you then each other in shock.

"Okay. Fine." Your son says in upset. "But this is fucked up. I don't know why you push people you love and who love you back away all the time."

"You don't know what you are talking about, son."

"You're not normal, dad."

You turn your head away as you hear them step out of the room.

XOXO

**_Yesterday.._****.**

Stephen slips through the curtains tentatively.

"Dec said you wanted to see me." He takes a step towards you. His face is tear-stained. He has been crying.

"Yeah."

"So I'm here." He says.

He looks at the machines and drips. He takes a step away from the equipment.

"So that was a dramatic way to tell you that I have cancer." You say, making light of the situation.

He doesn't see the funny. He folds his arms tightly around his chest. "Yeah. Pretty dramatic."

"Ta-da." You say.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asks eventually. The way he says that is like he doesn't want to show you he cares but he does. It's obvious in his stance.

You indicate for him to come closer to you. Then you take his hand in yours. You want to feel him. His hand is warm, limp and trembling in yours.

"Didn't your husband tell you something about knocks to your body making you stronger in the end? Maybe _I'm_ Superman now."

_That's it big boy. Remind yourself of his hubby before you do anything stupid. Stephen is married now so no brainless shenanigans like thinking things could ever happen between you again._

You look down at his hand in yours, searching for the wedding ring that will act like a bucket of cold water and make you come to your senses.

He isn't wearing one. You let go of his hand.

"Marty was only talking about bones." He whispers.

"Where's your wedding band?" You ask him. You can hear your heart in your ears like you have just run a marathon.

He stares down at his hands then back at you.

"Yeah. I was going to tell you..."

"...Going to tell me what?" You say.

He swallows nervously and wrings his hands together. "Like, I never got married in the end."

You are not sure if you have understood him properly.

"So you had one of those civil partnerships? Unions?"

"No, Brendan." He shakes his head. "I mean I am not with him anymore. We split up."

You try to assimilate his revelation.

Stephen isn't with Martin anymore.

"I wasn't going to tell you." He whispers. His shoulders are slumped. "I didn't want you to think that I didn't go through with it because of you and what happened last time."

He studies his shoes.

"You mean at the hotel when I came to your room?"

When you nearly had sex. When you finally said,_ I love you, Stephen. _

"Uh. Yeah." He shakily runs a hand over his buzz cut. "I wasn't thinking of you at all."

He is a shitty liar and right now he is lying through his teeth.

"No?" You ask.

He becomes fretful. "No. Do you know how long it took me to get over you?"

You subconsciously touch the crucifix that is dangling from your neck; proof that you never really moved on from him.

"Did you?" You whisper.

His eyes are defiant. "Can't you tell?"

He is trembling.

On one hand, Stephen has been very emphatic about moving on from you. The parcel containing his bloodstained uniform and your crucifix. The different look. The fiancé. On the other hand, he has shown you that he is far from over you. The declaration of love. Falling into bed with you too readily when he was with someone else. Leaving Martin.

"Stephen."

"What?"

"I get why you would want to move on. You have every right. When it mattered, I wasn't there for you." You take a deep breath. "I want you to know that it wasn't easy for me."

"What wasn't easy?"

"I didn't just leave and forget everything." You swallow against your inability to vocalise your emotions. You owe him this much at least. "I missed you."

His eyes widen with shock at your frankness.

"You never checked to see if I were okay. You didn't care."

"Do you honestly think that?"

He sniffs and nods briskly.

"'Course I did, Stephen, and I did check every day for months."

"You did?"

"Douglas." You say simply.

He recoils in surprise.

"Before your... friendship with Dougie-boy, he and I had a thing going."

He frowns. "You mean, you and him were like, I mean, when ..."

He's got the wrong end of the stick.

"It was strictly business, Stephen. Douglas was a naughty boy back in the day. Hard to believe since he looked like an accountant. I used the dirt I had on him to blackmail him into giving me a regular progress report on you."

He holds his head in shock then starts pacing the small space. "God. That is really fucked up!"

"Blame me not him. The guilt got to him in the end. He said he had become too good a mate with you to talk to me behind your back. And he told me that you'd moved on so I stopped..."

_Hoping_

"... Harassing him."

He bites on a nail. "When?"

"About five months after I left." You grunt. "Just after I got your present."

"Present?"

"The parcel."

_Brendan,_

_All this is behind me,_

_S_

A twitch goes off in your cheek.

"I'm a smart boy, Stephen. I read between the lines. You found someone. I know now that it must have been Martin."

You feel a wave of fatigue and rest back onto the hospital trolley.

Stephen clears his throat and yet his voice still sounds croaky. "He helped me heal."

"I know."

"And he helped me get on with my life. He was good to me. He was good _for_ me."

"I get it but I can't listen to it."

"And anyway it's not like we had a perfect relationship, innit?" He whispers indicating a finger between the two of you.

His eyes widen as he looks at you and he blinks slowly. God, he looks like he needs protecting right now. Like he needs someone to wrap their arms around him and give him strength. You want to be that person.

Maybe your relationship wasn't perfect but you were the happiest you had ever been and you thought he was pretty damn perfect. The good, the bad and the stuff that irritated the shit out of you; his restless legs under that tatty chequered red and black throw of his, his obsession with action movies, his million watt smile, his uninhibited party rocking, his quirks, the nose wriggle, the expressive hand gestures, the tossing and turning in bed, his shy smile and filthy whispers, his worrying addiction to citrusy desserts, his fetish for drinking tea out of massive mugs, his four pint alcohol intolerance, his insistence using you as his taste tester for his culinary inventions, his pointless chat and knowing looks, his pig snort laughs, his drive and determination, his loyalty to you. The way he made you feel like a king.

He rests his hands on the trolley and leans over you.

You haven't answered him.

_It's not like we had a perfect relationship, innit?_

He is so close that you can smell his aftershave. He settles his hands on the side bar of the trolley.

"So why am I still feeling like shit then?" He whispers.

"I don't know." You whisper back.

You look at his lips. Those pouty kissable lips. You have possessed them countless times before whenever you wanted. However you wanted; gently, roughly, languidly, urgent. Taking. Giving. With his body against yours and his long bashful lashes and reddening cheeks when you stopped to whisper what you wanted to do to him into his ear. His eager hands and mouth. His horny moans. His smooth body against your hairier one. Delicious. Responsive. Clinging to you as though he never wanted to let you go.

"I think it's because I have only ever really wanted you." He says. His hands grip the metal bar so firmly that his knuckles look white. "And I don't know what to do to get over it."

You did not expect him to say that especially after the rejection at the coffee shop and the money he tried to give you back to get closure.

"Do you want to get over it?"

"Yes." He nods briskly. "We never work out. You said so yourself. And feeling like this, not being able to get you out of my head, it's killing me. It's like I'm under a spell that I can't break even if it's the right thing to do."

You would have agreed with him a few months ago. You were sure that you weren't destined to be together but now you are not so sure. You crave nothing else. You crave his open affection for you and the optimism he used to have about your future together as a 'normal couple'. There was a time when that would have been met by your fist in his face or ribs. And he would scamper away until you coaxed him back. Where the words you said were just another weapon against him.

_You will come back to me. You always will._

You have had eight years of growth since then; two with him and six after. You have evolved into the person you are now; someone who is more comfortable in their skin, who is slower to anger and use violence as communication, who has fewer secrets and demons.

You can now acknowledge that you need and want him and that time or the people around you cannot influence or change how you feel about him.

You look at him square on.

"Paraic does this game called _What if_. You know it? No? It's irritating. He says _What if_ and then asks me a question. Like, what if you only had one wish in the world? What would you wish for, dad? He asked me that the other week."

"What did you say?"

"I avoided the answer. It's what I do. You know that." You say. "So ask me now."

He frowns.

"What if you had just one wish, what would it be?" He says.

"That you and me could be together."

His hands come off the bar as if it has suddenly turned piping hot. He clasps them together and steps away from you.

"Don't say that."

"It's true." You say.

He smiles then frowns. Inner conflict. "You should wish for your cancer to go away or summat."

You give him a wry grin. "Five minutes with you now have felt better than the last six years in good health."

He hesitates. You can feel him swing back and forth in his mind, towards you then away.

He doesn't take long to make up his mind.

You feel his lips on yours; a gentle glancing pressure that you think is in your imagination until you open your eyes and see him right there point blank.

Then he touches his mouth.

"It's strange without your moustache." He whispers. "Kissing you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He sighs and then says, "Brendan. I need to tell you something. I am so-"

The curtains draw back and a doctor comes in, coughing loudly to alert you of his presence.

Stephen straightens up. The mood between you is killed by the third man in the cubicle.

"Sorry to, uh, disturb you gentlemen." The doctor says, looking between the two of you, clearly aware that he interrupted a moment. "You're already looking much better, Mr Brady."

"Have you been reading _Bedside_ _Manner 101_? It shows."

The junior medic doesn't know how to respond to that so he turns to Stephen, "You'll have to step out for a few minutes. I've come to insert a catheter."

You wince at the thought. "At least take me on a date first, doc?"

The medic laughs nervously. "It shouldn't take long. I'll get your boyfriend back in as soon as we're done."

Boyfriend.

You look at Stephen to gauge his reaction.

He is still touching his mouth as if he can't believe he just kissed you.

"I should go." He says.

"Yeah. Sure." You say.

_But come back._

"Bye, Brendan." He says and turns to leave.

"Stephen!" You say abruptly.

He turns around, alarmed at the urgency in your voice. "Yeah?"

You look over at the doctor who shuffles in the background preparing for the catheterisation, knowing he is the third wheel.

You take a shaky breath out.

"I love you, Stephen."

XOXO

**_Six years ago..._**

The music is thumping so loudly in the club that you can barely hear any conversation over it. That's Fridays for you. Everyone is up for it, unwinding after a week of stress.

Most of the punters are on their feet, dancing to Rae's beats. It wasn't your idea to hire her as resident DJ especially after your rocky relationship with her at the beginning but Stephen was very persuasive when he approached you between the sheets with her name as a potential employee.

'_Just trial her again. I think you'll like her this time.'_

He was right. With jealousy not clouding your judgement you actually thought her set was good.

The club night is nearing an end and he has been so busy behind the bar that the most you have got out of him so far tonight has been an apologetic smile when you tried to say something to him only to be interrupted by a customer shouting out an order.

The thing is tonight is the last time you are going to see him until Monday because you have made plans to hang out with Pete for the first time in a while; catch a game, drink some beers, reminisce on your misspent youth, listen to some rhythm and blues and take stock of your lives. How you are both about to take big steps into 'proper adulthood' with his engagement and your gay co-habitation. Blokey (cough) stuff. You and your best mate from when you were wee _páiste_.

It's not like Stephen hasn't got things to do. He plans to do most of the packing since he won't have the disruption of his kids being around. They are spending time with Amy's dad this weekend.

Then Monday he is moving into your place. You take a deep breath in and out.

God. He is fucking moving in.

You watch him across the room. He is glancing at his watch so you make your way across the dance floor. It takes you fucking years with all the moshing but you get there in one piece after shoving some particularly drunk uncoordinated dancers out of the way.

Of course he isn't at the bar by the time you get there so you grab Rhys.

"Put the main lights on and tell Rae to wrap it up, will you. Ten minutes to closing."

He nods and you make your way down the stairs to the cellar. You know you will find Stephen there. He has automatically fallen into the habit of at least partially restocking of the bar before he goes so that you are good to go the next day.

As you get to the last few steps of the staircase you stop in your tracks because you hear two voices in the cellar.

"Gissus a hand, will you?" Stephen says urgently. You hear the strain in his voice and the tinkle of bottles in a crate. "Ta."

"No problem."

"So what was I saying? Oh yeah. We've barely spoken tonight, me and Bren."

"So like you two are really doing it, huh? You're going to be roomies?"

That twang. Recognisable anywhere.

Douglas.

You bristle with annoyance at how close they have become. They are _always_ together and you didn't see it coming. One minute, Dougie-boy was your dogsbody and the flat mate of Stephen's ex. The next he was coming round to your place for dinner on Stephen's invitation.

'_Oh didn't I tell you Doug was coming over? Must have forgotten.'_

"Roomies? You mean moving in together?" You hear the smile in Stephen's voice. "Yeah."

"I don't get it."

"What's not to get?"

"Ste, you're _nice_. And I know he's your, dare-I-say-the-word-out-loud, _boyfriend_, but Brendan? Well, Brendan is Brendan."

Fuck wit.

"You don't know him like I do. He's well nice really."

"He doesn't even define your relationship. Why can't he just admit that he is your boyfriend? Like say the words. 'I love you, Stephen and I think you are an awesome boyfriend."

"Who talks like that anyway?" Stephen sounds sombre when he says. "I know how he feels about me, I think. I mean he asked me to move in right?"

"He gives me evils."

"No he doesn't!"

"Check it out next time. He's like this. Watch."

There is a pause then a laugh from Stephen. Is Doug impersonating you? The bastard.

"Actually, he does do that!"

"See!"

"But it's kind of hot. Like he could take anyone on. Even you. Macho man."

"Funny, dude." You hear more tinkering glass then Doug says, "So, like, help me understand this, when you guys are alone together what do you do exactly?"

"I don't know... like talk about stuff. And stuff."

"I can't see Brendan talk to anyone without making them shit their pants."

Stephen laughs again. "You should be a fly on the wall next time."

"Nah thanks. I'm not sure I'd be prepared for what else I might see."

"Stop being gross!"

"Come on! Guy like Brady. You're probably at it like rabbits... Shit! Just got a visual. Damn!" Doug says. "How did you get together anyway? I can't see him asking you out like a normal person."

You wonder whether you should walk in and stop this little gossip session about you but it is interesting to get insight into how other people see you so you stay in the shadows.

"Actually, um, I'm not sure how it happened. In the beginning, he were just my boss and I thought he didn't like me very much. Then he started acting really nice. And one day we went out, just me and him, like on a night out and at the end of the night we ended up at his place and I were buzzing, right, because we were getting along great. And then we kissed."

"He kissed you?"

"Actually I think I kissed him and he acted totally grossed out by it."

"Good actor."

"I guess. Then the next day was really awkward because I thought he were going to fire me. But then he followed me down here after ordering me to bring some crates up. We were alone and he locked us in. Hold this."

"Why?"

"Just hold it in front of you like this."

"Okay." Doug says sceptically.

"So then he walked up to me like this..." You hear Stephen's footsteps on the hard floor. "Like a panther or summat. I were scared, right, because I were thinking he's going to thump me because I kissed him yesterday and he isn't into blokes."

"Wowa, buddy! A little too close there!"

"That is how close he got." Stephen whispers. "And I was trapped to the pillar like you are now."

"Aggressive fucker, ain't he?" Doug quips.

"I were cacking meself. Then he took the crate away from my arms like this."

He remembers everything. It was two years ago so assumed that only you had kept a video perfect memory of what had happened at the very start of your relationship.

He better not do a complete re-enactment with Doug though.

You would break that shit right up.

"And he got really close. I could almost taste his breath. A bit of whiskey mixed in with gum. And my heart was beating really hard. I thought he could hear it. I couldn't move."

"Let me guess, he kissed the fuck out of you." Doug says like it is obvious.

"Yeah."

"Don't, Ste."

Stephen laughs. "Don't worry." You hear him pat Doug's chest. "You're not my type."

"Hey! Don't say it like that. I could be someone's type."

"Come on. Let's get these crates upstairs." You can hear the grin in Stephen's voice.

"Are you saying that I don't appeal to people?"

You take the last few steps and walk into the room. You've had enough of eavesdropping.

"Dougie, Dougie, Dougie. Shall I answer that question?" You say.

He practically jumps out of his skin at the sight of you.

"No. Please don't."

"Hi, Bren." Stephen beams at you. "Where did you come from?"

"Why? Were you talking about me?" You ask innocently.

"Doug was just helping me bring some drinks upstairs." Stephen says.

"You don't work here, Douglas." You tell the American. "Shouldn't you be with your friends, partying and what not? You're a paying guest."

"Ste puts me on the guest list. I come here for free." Doug says. Of course. Bessie mates and all that. "And I was just helping out a friend. I was trying to be nice."

"That's sweet of him, isn't it?" Stephen says as he walks up to you.

"Why don't you be nice upstairs?" You tell Doug. "Dance, sell coke. Generally get the fuck out of here."

Stephen frowns at you as Doug scampers out of the cellar.

"Why are you so mean to him?"

"He is always hanging around you like a foul smell."

"Now I'm going to have to apologise for your behaviour."

"Or not."

You close then lock the door, cutting down the noise of the club above almost completely and turn to look at him.

"You're not going anywhere." You growl.

He smiles because you are saying the exact words you said to him the night you kissed him in the cellar for the first time. You stalk up to him and he gives you a lopsided smile.

"Why didn't you just say you wanted some private time?"

You don't answer him. Instead you step up to him and force him to march backwards until his back hits the same pillar it collided against two years ago.

He gasps when you push your body against his and bring your hand up to cup his face.

"Is this how you remember it?" You ask quietly.

"Oh God, did you hear me speaking to Doug?"

"Yep." You say as you rest a hand on his waist. "And then I leaned in to inhale you like this. That aftershave had been driving me crazy for weeks."

"I didn't know that." He smiles.

You gently touch his lips with yours.

"And again." He whispers.

So you repeat the light kiss.

You stare at each other. This feels like you are marking an occasion. The start of a new chapter in your lives.

You steady his chin between your fingers and you both delve in for a passionate kiss. You are ready to make a meal of it but he is first to pull away.

At least he sounds reluctant when he says, "I've got to finish getting this stuff up."

He looks at his watch.

02.05.

"I'll get someone else to do it."

"I don't want the others to think that I get special treatment because I'm with you."

"But you do." You raise your eyebrows at him. "You are sleeping with the boss. What do you expect?"

He smiles.

"And in three days time you'll be living with the boss."

"Oh yeah!" He says then he puts his hands on your chest. "Do you want to come over to mine tonight? Like, as a farewell thingy."

"Much as that has its appeal I've got Pete staying over for a lad's weekend. Can't change plans."

He looks disappointed. "I understand."

"I'll see Monday, anyway."

He grins again then. "Yes. And we'll be roomies!"

"Roomies?"

"That's what Doug calls it."

"Fucking Doug."

He laughs. "I am going to make it my mission for you two to get along."

"Good luck with that."

He gives you a quick kiss. "I'm going to start cleaning up upstairs then."

"See ya."

He gives you a wave and then runs up the stairs.

"See ya."

XOXO

**_Present Day..._**

You walk past the reception desk of the ward dressed in the clothes you came into hospital wearing. You aren't feeling great but at least your gait is steady. A little rehydration goes a long way. You pulled your drip line out leaving a small blood bath on your bed before stemming the flow with a bit of tissue. You try not to think about the pain that was involved in removing the catheter without medical assistance. You still feel a little sore in your prized possession.

The nurse behind the desk stands up when she spots you making your way to the door with shock on her face.

"Mr Brady? What are you doing out of bed?"

She walks round to block your way.

You look down at the clothes you are wearing and then back at her.

"Walking out of here."

"But you aren't fit for discharge yet. Please get back to your room."

You lean in towards her so that she leans away from you looking a little frightened by the intensity in your eyes.

"No."

You wink at her then walk out of the ward and hospital.

xo

You are lying on your sofa, wrapped up and trying to get some sleep when the incessant knocking on your door starts. It isn't your sister, your sons or Niks since they all have a set of keys. Whoever it is must have been let into the building by one of your neighbours so they aren't a stranger.

You gingerly make your way to the front door figuring that it is probably Paddy, here to have a go at you for walking out of the hospital against medical advice.

"Coming. Chill the fuck out." You say then swing the door open.

Your groan is heartfelt.

"Thanks. That's the way every mother wants to be greeted by her only son."

"Chris might be locked up but he still exists, ma." You mutter referring to your estranged older brother.

She scowls at you and lets herself in, making her way to the kitchen area and placing a pot wrapped in a cloth on the counter.

"Why are you being an eejit, Brendan? You should be in hospital. Declan was beside himself on the phone a short while ago."

"Because I was fed up of being mothered like some kid." You say pointedly.

"You should go back." She puts the pot on the cooker and starts heating it up. Microwaves are still not on her radar.

"I'm fine right here." You reply. "Or at least I was."

You collapse back onto the couch and cover yourself up again like you were before your mother disturbed the peace.

"Bye, ma."

"I'm not going anywhere. And you should throw that tatty thing out. It spoils the aesthetic of the room."

You look down at the red and black chequered pattern of the throw. Stephen's old throw.

"Your son says that you shouted at him and your sister."

"That happened." You close your eyes to block her out.

"And he said that it was because you got sensitive over Cheryl mentioning that boy's name and finding out that he left Ireland. The one who turned up here a couple of days ago at dinner."

You squeeze your eyes tighter. _Here we go,_ you think. She is going to use this as the latest reason to justify why you should rethink your sexuality.

"Is it? Is that why you are behaving self-destructively?"

"No. And I am not being self-destructive. I'm fine."

"He looked too young for you." She says.

You sit up and crane your neck over the couch to see her as she stands at the cooker.

"Dad is nearly twenty years older than you."

She stirs whatever the contents of her pot are vigorously. "His name is Stephen. Is that right? And you said he was your... boyfriend?"

"Yes." You say in exasperation. "A long time ago."

"And what does he do?"

"Do you care?"

"I heard that he went through a rough time a few years ago."

"Who told you?" You had always assumed that Cheryl had kept Stephen from your mother. Maybe it was your son...

"He seemed polite enough from the brief time I saw him."

"Men who like men can do manners, ma."

"That is not what I meant. I don't know why you are being so defensive, Brendan."

You lean over the couch.

"Why don't we cut to the chase, mother? Where you tell me that my cancer is because I sleep with guys and what happened to Ste is because he sleeps with guys and the reason why Par kissed that kid in his class is because his father sleeps with guys. And how all this is God punishing me!"

She stops stirring and stares over at you. Then she marches up to you, briskly. Brady style. You are a little scared by the anger in her if truth be told.

She shakes the wooden spoon at you. "SHUT UP, YOU SELF PITYING CHILD!"

You recoil from her. Mama Brady is enraged.

"If you must know then maybe I would have been happier if you liked women. Who wouldn't? Life would have been easier for everyone. Do you know how much my life has changed since you have come home and come out? I get looks at church. I have people telling me that they are praying for you on a weekly basis. You are a topic of conversation at my book group. I hear whispers die to silence when I enter rooms when the _Buzz_ prints yet another story about your latest conquest. And some think that your dad left _me_. Not the other way round. And do you know why? Because they say I made you like this. That it is my fault for smothering you and it's a good job your papa got away. I have tried to understand you, Bren. This is not how I was brought up. So you need to tell me. Teach me. I have tried coming over. I have asked you questions but you shut me down every time." She jabs the spoon at you. "I don't know what more to do!"

You sniff the air. "The pot's burning."

She skips over to it and takes it off the heat. "And now you have made me ruin the stew!"

"Sorry."

She narrows her eyes at you. "For the stew or for being a difficult, uncommunicative son?"

"Both."

She looks into the pot and takes a bowl from a cupboard. She ladles some into it and tastes it with a finger before grabbing a spoon and bringing it over to you.

"It will do. A bit smoky." She says and sits down next to you, passing you the bowl.

"Thanks."

She gives you a smile. She has a knack of making your feel like a little boy with one look.

"You're welcome." You try a mouthful and then put it down.

"I'm not going until you have had the whole lot."

"I know." You say in defeat. She isn't lying. She'll move in if necessary.

"Tomorrow, I want you to call Dr Scott and make an appointment to see him." She says.

"Okay."

You lean back on the couch and stare at the ceiling.

"So this Stephen, was he a special person to you?"

The level of cringe is immeasurable.

"Yes. We were together two years."

"And he knew the boys."

"Yes he did."

"How?"

"It was back in Hollyoaks. They would come over to see me and he was there... and we came out here a few times together."

"He came to Dublin?"

"Yep."

"But you didn't bring him round to meet me?"

"No."

She nods. "Have you told him about me?"

"Yeah. I told him about this. How you gave it to me." You point at the crucifix around your neck. "He said he liked the sound of you."

"Are you embarrassed by me?"

"Come on, ma. Course not."

"I gave birth to you." She says indignantly. "I would have liked to meet him."

You laugh. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it. It sounds like he was someone you actually let stick around not one of those other boys. That counts for something." She says. "Why was he in town?"

"He wanted to return something to me, I think." You rub your eyes tiredly.

Get closure. Leave your heart bleeding.

"Quick visit."

"He did what he set out to do." You sigh. You have had enough of talking. You don't do deep; at least you haven't for a long time. "It doesn't matter, mum. He is gone now. And I'm done talking about him. I feel like I'm under inquisition here."

She stands up, "Not a problem. I'm happy you opened up, Brendan." She fusses around you, tucking the throw around you then picking the bowl up to give it to you again. Then she ruffles your hair and gives you a wet kiss on the cheek. Only the fear of becoming a complete cliché stops you from wiping it.

She walks away but not towards the front door like you hoped.

"Where are you going?" You ask her.

"The study." She says. "I've got to ring Dec, Par and Cheryl to let them know you are okay. And I have brought the book I need to read for my next book group meeting so take your time eating your stew. I'll check in on you in half an hour to see how you are getting on."

She gives you a smile that is hard as nails.

It is at times like this when you realise that your sixty-five year old mother would whoop your ass in a fight.

XOXO

**_Six Years Ago..._**

You check the time. 02.50. You are the last person at the club and as you lock up you think about Stephen's invitation to go over to his for the rest of the night.

You shouldn't but you can't resist ringing him.

He answers with, "Didn't I just see you ten minutes ago?"

You can hear his footsteps on hard asphalt. He is still walking.

"Was it just ten minutes?" You say with a cheeky grin while locking the office door and systematically turning off the lights.

"You miss me already, don't you?" He teases.

You groan. "I'm regretting calling you now."

He laughs. "I'm like still fifteen minutes away from home."

"Call me when you get in?" You make your way down to the ground floor of the club.

"What?" He sounds amused. "Like what do you think is going to happen to me on the way home, that I'll get raped or summat?"

"Please! No! I just thought you could tell me what you are wearing in bed."

You make your way to the main door.

"Perv!" He giggles then asks, "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Down boy. I know I'm hard to resist but I told you. I've got Pete."

You double lock the door to the club and stick the huge padlock across it.

"No. You aren't that irresistible! It's just that I have the house to myself, so..."

"I know. Sorry."

"It's fine. I'll see you on Monday, yeah? Enjoy watching the game with Pete."

"I will. See ya."

"Oh wait! By the way, have you noticed that Warren keeps staring at us?" He says. There is genuine worry etched into his tone.

You grin. Warren is a pussy cat. Compared to some of the people you have gone toe to toe with he barely measures up. So you say,

"I didn't want to say anything but I think he fancies me. Caught him rubbing himself while looking at me the other day."

"Funny! Somehow I don't think he is into taches but... anyway; maybe I am being a bit paranoid. It's just I knew him way back when. He isn't someone to mess with. He can be really creepy, Bren."

You wonder what has brought this on. Stephen has voiced his concerns about Warren to you before but not for some time. You can't help but think back on a strange conversation you had with Foxy last week where he accused you of stealing cash from him. You dismissed it in your mind but it jabs back into your memory now. When you next see him you plan to confront him about it just in case he has got the wrong idea.

"I wouldn't worry about him. He is small fish. I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Okay, Bye."

"Bye, Stephen."

XOXO

This is going to be your second half day return to work since your hospitalisation two weeks ago. You are taking it easy when you are there, concentrating on mundane daytime administration which is still far more interesting than staying at home all day.

You collect your mail which is in a box on the ground floor of your apartment building as you head to your car. You skim through it quickly. Bill. Bill. Spam. Bill. Personal letter. Bill. Spam. Bill.

You bin the spam into a nearby bin then get into your car. The bills are piled up on the passenger seat but you hold onto the letter.

You haven't started the engine. You are literally shaking because you recognise the handwriting on the envelope straight away.

Why is he writing to you? You rip into the paper hurriedly and unfold the A4 paper. His writing has improved from the childlike scroll he had due to his dyslexia into something more confident.

xo

_Dear Brendan,_

_I don't know what to write. I am so confused right now. I can't stop thinking about you or your letter even though I got it over a week ago._

_And I feel really crap that I left you at the hospital without saying a proper goodbye. I hope you understand that it was the only way I could be sure that I would be able to leave._

_I hope you get better soon. I really do._

_Ste_

xo

What letter is he referring to? You never sent him a letter.

And then you remember your mother's visit.

'_Where are you going?' _

'_The study._ _I've got to ring Dec, Par and Cheryl to let them know you are okay.'_

You run back out of your car, up the stairs and into your apartment. You walk over to your office and go straight to your desk's drawer. Just like you thought. The letter you wrote to Stephen, that you never intended to send, is gone.

You snap your phone open angrily and quick dial your mother's number.

"Hello?"

You are so livid with her that you can barely speak. "How did you know about it?"

"Oh, hiya, Brendan love. How are you doing?"

"Did you hear me, mother? How dare you send it off?"

"What are you talking about?" She says sheepishly.

"He was never meant to read it." You hiss down the line, gripping your phone so hard you think it might snap. "Who asked you to stick your nose in where it wasn't needed?"

"Why did you leave it somewhere where anyone could have found it?"

"It was hidden."

"Declan found it easily enough. He told me about it and after what you told me about that English boy, well, I recognised what he still means to you and I sent the letter."

You should have known that this would have something to do with your older son.

"Why did you write it otherwise? And why didn't you throw it away?" She asks.

"Because..." You haven't got a ready answer for that.

"Because you weren't ready to let go and because you still have feelings for him. I might be old fashioned but I'm not stupid." She says. "Now I would love to chat, Bren, but I am in the middle of book group. By the way you must read _A Visit from the Goon Squad_. Marvellous."

She puts the phone down on you.

You slowly try to exhale your anger away.

xo

_Dear Stephen,_

_Sorry for confusing you. Ignore my letter. I already know what your feelings are for me. You have made them perfectly clear. I didn't mean to put pressure on you._

_I wish you all the best in your life._

_Brendan_

xo

_Dear Brendan,_

_I need to get this off my chest. When you told me you loved me at the hotel and the hospital and when you said that you still wanted to be with me it was something I have wanted to hear you tell me since we got together. And when you finally said it you can't imagine how happy you made me but at the same time it seems a bit scary and impossible and unachievable after everything we have been through._

_I am not the person I once was. I've grown up and I don't think I can deal with all the stress we went through together._

_You made me really happy once, Brendan. You did. But I had to compromise to get that happiness. I had to play by your rules. I can't go back to that anymore but I think I would like to try being friends if you want._

_Love always,_

_Ste_

_P.S. I hope you don't mind but I called Declan today. He told me that the doctors say that you didn't have a relapse. I am so happy to hear that. Please let me know if you don't want me to speak with him or Paraic. My e-mail is ...uk. It will be quicker to get to me than regular mail._

xo

From: .ie

To: .uk

_That is not a problem. You can stay in touch with the boys if you want._

_BB_

xo

From: .uk

To: .ie

_Dear Brendan,_

_Thank you. I won't bother you again. That is what you want, isn't it?_

_Ste _

xo

From: .ie

To: .uk

_Stephen,_

_That is not what I want._

_Brendan_

_My phone number is attached._

xo

From: .uk

To: .ie

_Dear Brendan,_

_I have attached my mobile number if you wanted too. Just in case you need it, I guess. _

_Chat soon._

_Ste x_

xo

_Dear Brendan,_

_We crossed paths with an Irish guy with a moustache in hiking gear today. Leah said he reminded her of you. She remembers you. Not because of the hiking gear obviously. Anyway, that's why I'm sending you this post card. Me and the kids are on a weekend adventure trip in Sherwood Forest._

_Ste x_

xo

From: .ie

To: .uk

_Stephen,_

_Can you see me in hiking gear? Don't answer that question. Hope the nettles didn't get you or the Hay monsters. _

_I'm putting my name forward to smother you with calamine lotion if you need._

_BB _

xo

You look at the e-mail and delete the last suggestive sentence before sending it.

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_No nettle stings. But a few insect bites. _

_Remember how you would always volunteer to rub calamine lotion on me if anything bit, stung or cut me?_

_It just came to mind. Remember?_

_x_

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Vaguely... _

_Totally._

xo

Message-

_From: Ste Hay_

_I was thinking I don't really know what has happened with you over the last few years. I'd like to know._

_x_

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Check your e-mail._

_BTW, shouldn't you be asleep? It's gone midnight on a school night..._

_BB_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_Can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about stuff. You?_

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Working. Texting you. _

_BB_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_Hope the rest of the night goes okay. I'll read the e-mail now._

_S x_

xo

From: .ie

To: .uk

_Dear Stephen,_

_As requested this is the last six years of my life in bullet point. Warning- Reading this could cause profound drowsiness._

_- I came back to Dublin and moved into the apartment that you saw when you were over here. Never moved since. I didn't speak to the neighbours. Apparently they spoke to me. So maybe I ignored them._

_- I met Nicola through Paddy. He introduced us soon after I got back to Ireland and now she is my business partner, my friend and my biggest frustration. She's a fighter. If Amy and Mitzeee could have babies, they'd produce Niks._

_- Paddy and I have made our peace. Never thought it would happen but there you go. I would trust him with my family's life now. He came out six months ago. Declan thinks he 'does gay' better than I do. He educated me recently. Apparently you are a twink. I can't remember what that means but I think it's a compliment. I'm a daddy-bear. That sounds illegal. _

_- Cheryl still mothers everyone. Now she also has a husband (smooth talking Italian) and three sons to take care of. She is about to pop with their fourth. The only female offspring of the next Brady generation. _

_- You know about the boys since they talk to you. _

_- Declan he is into his second year of vet school. Still with Aoife. Still vegetarian. Still with that shaggy dog. Still meddling with my life like he knows best. He probably does. _

_- Paraic is like his old man. He scares me sometimes. He is like a Duracell battery. Never stops but he is smart and Eileen knows how to handle him. She exhausts him by signing him up to every club in school. I think he joined debate team last week. He goes into the senior school next year. He will wreak havoc._

_- I see Eileen more than I'd like to now that we live in the same city. She's okay when she's on mute._

_- My mum's name is Eva. I didn't introduce you because I thought she would disapprove of us and I didn't want you to be subjected to her vitriol. But I got her wrong. She is the reason why you and I are talking again. Long story. I'll tell you some other time._

_- When I left Hollyoaks I vowed to get on the straight and narrow. No dealing. No crime. So Niks and I opened VIBE five years ago and THE ELECTRIC three years ago. I still get the odd parking fine though. _

_- Until recently my routine was work, gym, family, Paddy and Niks. _

_- Then a few months ago I started to feel unwell. Niks took me to the doctor and I found out I had leukaemia. Three months in and I have completed my induction chemotherapy and now I am on maintenance. The side effects are a bitch but on the plus side, I've been told I look better without the moustache._

_- What did you think? Sexier with or without. Find attached photographs to aid decision making._

_- Now I work part-time and work out part-time._

_- I got cornered by one of the neighbours recently. He gave me a get well soon food basket so I couldn't say no to his invitation to a chess game, Now we get together for a game a couple of times a week. The moral of the story is miracles do happen. I think I made a friend all on my own from scratch._

_- So that's me if you are still awake. _

_BB_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_You look good in both pictures. They are both you. x_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_So you and your neighbour are friends? It's fine if he is your boyfriend. I don't mind._

xo

Message-

From: BB

_He's my friend. Just a friend. I don't have a boyfriend. No time. No inclination. That could change if it was for one particular person. If that particular person wanted to... _

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Haven't heard from you in a week. If it's because of what I said last time, forget it. I didn't mean to blur the lines. Friends?_

_BB_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_Friends._

_x_

xo

From: .uk

To: .ie

_Dear Brendan,_

_How is it going? The boys say that you are looking much better these days and that you are back to working full time. That must feel amazing. I remember how it felt for me to get back on my feet again. Now you can look forward to the rest of your life, can't you?_

_The bistro is going great. I don't want to brag but I think we are the best eatery in town, pound for pound. If you were ever thinking about coming to Chester you should come and check it out. Can you believe that it has been nearly three months since we last saw each other?_

_Stephen_

_xx_

xo

From: .ie

To: .uk

_Dear Stephen,_

_I will. _

_BB_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_Have you heard that Warren got arrested last week? Apparently he got caught breaking and entering into some estate out of Chester trying to nick antiques. With his track record he is going away for a long time. Mitzeee is throwing a party tonight._

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Have a drink for me. I'll light a candle to mark the moment._

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_Are you working? I can't sleep._

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Yep. Club's packed so I've locked myself in the office. You want me to sing you a lullaby?_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_No. I want to talk._

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_BTW, I haven't told anyone that we still keep in touch. Not even Par and Dec._

xo

Message-

From: BB

_Do you want to?_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_I don't know. Sometimes I do. Like why are we keeping it a secret? But then I think they'll get the wrong idea. They won't understand that we are mates now and that there is nothing else._

_x_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_Brendan?_

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_I've upset you. Haven't I?_

xo

Message-

From: BB

_You're lying to yourself if you think that we are just friends, Stephen._

xo

Message-

From: Ste Hay

_I think that even if there is something else we shouldn't do anything about it. I told you, I can't go through it all again._

XOXO

You look up from your phone. You are in your office at the club. You can feel the vibration of the club's music through the walls but the volume is muted by the room's sound proofing.

_I can't go through it all again._

Your jaw twitches with a deep emotion that you haven't felt for years towards another person. Possessiveness.

You have been communicating with Stephen for three months now. You were beginning to feel that things between you might morph into something more concrete than a series of e-mails and text messages into something that involved physical presence and not holding back on what you really wanted to tell him.

He has completely squashed your assumption.

The room feels claustrophobic all of a sudden so you step out into the dance area. You duck and weave through the midweek clubbers mainly composed of university students and make your way to the bar.

You grunt a hello to the bar staff and then pour yourself two glasses of whiskey. The first goes down in one. The other you take back with you to the office.

You pick up your phone again and stare at Stephen's text message.

He likes you, you are sure of that. In fact, you are pretty sure he loves you but he doesn't want a relationship. The problem is you aren't sure you can keep up the pretence of just being his friend.

Without thinking you ring his number. He takes longer to answer than your nerves find comfortable.

"Brendan?"

"You said I could call a while back."

"Um, yeah. Sure."

"You wanted to talk." You say.

"You sound angry."

Do you? That is what happens when the person you care for tramples on your heart. He should know. You did it to him.

"I'm not." You say forcing your voice to soften. "I'm frustrated."

"Oh. You didn't reply to my text so after a while I thought... I thought you were done with me for today so I'm in bed now. I was going to try to get some sleep."

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you get a visual of him tucked up in bed alone in a t-shirt and boxers. Inevitably your filthy mind inserts you into the picture. You get into bed with him, push him down and say something cheesy and nonsensical like,

'_It's not bedtime yet.'_

"You thought _I _was done with _you_?" You ask slowly.

"Yeah."

"You're the one who just texted saying you aren't willing to give us a try!" You find your voice rising so you force yourself to calm down. "I'll never be done with you, Stephen."

"Really?"

Jesus, he can be thick sometimes. "Really."

You hear the movement of bed sheets. "So, like, I know you are dead busy and so say no if you can't come but there is going to be a, uh, thing at the bistro. It's a closed door party for close friends and family, like, for Christmas but, um, obviously before so if you want to spend your proper Christmas with your family you still can. You can say no though. I was just thinking out loud."

Eight and half years have passed since meeting him for the first time, six and a half since leaving him, five months since finding out he was getting married to someone else and three months since you last saw him.

His invitation now sounds just as beautiful to your ears as hearing the doctors say to you that there was no evidence of cancer at your last check. Better in fact.

"It depends." You say.

"Depends on what?" He asks.

"Are you inviting me as a friend only?"

There is silence and then a sigh.

"No. I don't think so. I mean, not just as a friend."

You smile. Every bone in your body relaxes and you feel yourself fall back into the chair and exhale.

"Then yes."

XOXO

**_Five years later..._**

You move on in life don't you? Like you did after finding out you had leukaemia five years ago.

Shit happens. Bad Shit. The kind of shit that gets you close to putting blades to your wrists, a bag over your head and then jump off a bridge. But you don't because you know you have kids who would lose a father. You have a sister who cares for you and friends. Not many but solid ones. They would never forgive you. They would miss you incredibly. They would care that you have gone. The only ones you thought because with every fibre of your being you were certain that _he_ didn't.

He made that perfectly clear. He wasn't there when you needed him most. He turned his back on you years ago when he sent you back the crucifix and then entered a long term relationship with a man he called a fiancé for some time. When that relationship dissolved you thought you could be together again but he emphatically told you 'no'.

The irony was not lost on you. You had done the same to him. Maybe this was divine retribution.

So you tried to move on. You worked the Brendan Brady front. For six years no one could see the heart ache you felt from his absence from your life. All they saw was your badass demeanour, your deportment, your swagger and your refusal to settle down.

There has only ever been one person who has been able to seen through the carefully constructed Irish bad boy persona. Actually, that person didn't need to see through it because you dropped the act when the two of you were alone.

He owns your heart and, while he may not realise it, he has the power to build you up and tear you down at will. He is your fire _and_ your rock; your everything. He could wrap his arms around you and make you feel at peace or give you one look and make you want to fuck his brains out. His kiss can right a thousand wrongs and his smile set off a warm glow inside you. He can make you act goofy and soppy and not care.

You feel a squeeze in your hand.

"Hey. Daddy-bear." Nicola says. "It's like you are in a different world."

You look across at her in the dim light of the cab on the frosty winter evening. She is under so many layers and covered by so many winter accessories that you can just about make out her blue eyes, rosy cheeks and 'cabin crew' red lipstick through it all.

She grips your hand firmly and her gold wedding band gleams in the darkness.

"Day-dreaming." You cast an eye up and down her swamped body. "Look at you. You sure you've got enough layers there?"

"It's cold." She mutters.

"The frown is kind of sexy." You give her a cheeky grin.

"Fuck off!" She laughs.

"I'm serious."

"Whatever. Look, I'm sorry we are running late. I couldn't decide which dress to go for."

"They both looked good but not at the same time."

She grins at you, then leans in to give you a small kiss on the lips and adjusts your scarf and floor length coat which hides a black tuxedo with a white bow tie and crisp white dress shirt.

"We are nearly there now." She says.

You look out. Great. It's fucking snowing. Who decided winter was a good time of year to celebrate this?

"I can't believe the day has come already. Declan is just a baby." She exclaims.

You smile. "_You_ can't believe it?"

The car glides slightly on a slippery patch so you lean forward and say,

"Oi, moron, watch the driving, yeah! We need to get to our destination in one piece."

"Calm down, mate." The cabbie says indignantly. "It was a spot of black ice."

"Brendan, please." Niks says softly and strokes the back of your hand soothingly. "Or he'll chuck us out."

"He can't drive."

"It's your tact and patience... That's why I love you." She says drily.

You give her a wry look in return. "Is Paddy there already?"

"Yeah. We are the last ones. You are going to get a telling off. Someone won't be happy with you."

"I'll be fine. I've got ways to calm the dragon down." You smile. "Besides. This is your fault. We could have made it in twenty minutes on foot."

"Not when it's snowing and we are dressed all sexy, Bren. Not then."

The taxi stops outside _Sherlbourne_ Hotel. You pay up then step out and run round to Niks side to let her out.

You then walk through the Corinthian pillars together and up the stairs into the hotel lobby. You are greeted by three young men that are dressed in tuxes too; Freddy, Dan and Aiden. Declan's lifelong friends.

"Hi, boys." You greet.

"Hi, Mr. Brady." You give them each a handshake.

"Fredrick." When you give him your hand he uses it to pull you into a hug and a slightly uncomfortable kiss on both cheeks.

He laughs and his cheeks go red, "I'm being European."

"I see." You say and take a step back. You remember your son saying that Freddie has an ongoing crush on you.

You are a DILF apparently. Paddy kindly informed you of the meaning. You wore the title like a badge for about a week.

Dan, Freddie's boyfriend, says with a smile. "I'll take your coats."

Niks and you take your outerwear off and pass them to him.

"By the way, Declan told us that you have been clear for five years." Aiden says referring to your cancer. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. I didn't really do anything. Just kept waking up every morning." You reply but you are smiling. You beat the odds. Adult acute leukaemia has a 34% five year survival. You are in the minority but you've done it. So far you are disease-free.

"And tonight is amazing." Freddie says. "It has been a long time coming."

You nod. "I'm sure we'll be sitting for dinner soon. Make sure you get in there. Declan will want you with him."

"Yeah. We were just waiting for you. His orders. We'll be right behind you though."

You give them a wink and then take Niks hand to lead the way to your son's engagement party.

XOXO

You look around you the minute you get into the room.

Declan and Aoife beeline towards you the minute you lock eyes with them. They look so young and somewhat naive, beaming and dressed up for the occasion. You suppress the cynical voice in your head that tells you that they have arguments, silent treatments, irreversible conflict and a nasty breakup to look forward to at some point in the future. Declan's only twenty-four and she's only a year older. Surely time will pull them apart.

But the 'new you' allows yourself to be glad for them. You are proud and happy that your son has found someone who he feels he wants to share the rest of his life with but you did ask them a few questions when they approached you a few months ago with the news soon after his graduation from university.

_'You're too young.'_

'_You were twenty-one when you and mum tied the knot and it was because she was pregnant!'_

'_Exactly. Look how that turned out.'_You replied_. 'Aoife's not pregnant, is she?'_

_'No!'_

_'So why don't you give it a few more years.'_

_'We've been together longer than any relationship you and mum have had.'_

_'Your point? Don't you want to see what else is out there? Play the field? It's only ever been that girl.'_

_'I'm right here, Brendan.'_

_'Dad. We aren't asking. We're telling you. Deal with it.'_

"What time do you call this?" Declan says before he pulls you into a heartfelt hug.

"Ask Niks. I was ready." You reply.

"I thought you were supposed to be keeping him on the straight and narrow." He tells her.

"Not when I am getting ready for an occasion. I can't stick to time." Niks protests.

"Looking good, dad!" Aoife says with a smile as you hug her too.

She knows that being called dad by her riles you up but you don't rise to her taunt.

"Thank you, daughter. You scrub up nicely, too."

"We thought you might get stuck in the snow." Declan says. "The news said that it's not safe to drive during the night. We may all need to stay here overnight."

You can think of worse things. It might be nice to have a night away from home as a break from routine.

"Good job it's a hotel." You say.

"So when are we sitting for the meal?" Nicola asks. "I've been starving myself to fit into this dress."

Aoife grins. "Soon. But get a drink at the bar first, yeah?"

You look around. The place is heaving but your eyes only pick out the familiar faces. Your sister is with your mother and her husband and brood. Cheryl is too busy wiping her boys' noses to notice you have arrived. You recognise some of Declan's university friends. They seem impossibly current, trendy and world weary. The kind of people who wear vintage clothes ironically and reject mainstream culture. Paddy is playing tonsil tennis with Eddie, his boyfriend; a quiet young lad who is fitter than fuck and happens to work with him at Jo-Jo's garage.

"Oh. There's my hubby!" Niks exclaims as you catch sight of the man in question. "See you at the table, Bren, and congratulations once again you two! I'll catch up with you at the table, yeah?"

She briefly hugs Dec and Aoife before teetering away to catch up with Tim. When it came to getting her man, Nicola really put the work in. You could put money on theirs being the slowest courtship ever known to mankind.

"Hi dad!"

You feel a pair of hands on your shoulders. You turn to face Paraic. He is not so sweet sixteen. He may be dressed in a suit but his dirty blond hair is a mess. There is a glint of mischief in his brown eyes and his recent growth spurt has meant he is nearly as tall as you and Declan but of stockier build. His top-level grades initially slipped when he moved into senior school and got distracted by friends and crushes but he is back on track; the likeable currently single all rounder.

You touch his hair, "It's called a comb. It's not the enemy."

"Yeah, but I like it like this." He says and ruffles it again. "By the way, I would go to the kitchen if I were you." He pokes a finger into your ribs. "Someone isn't happy you are late."

"Looks like you're in trouble." Declan says with a smile.

You look at your sons and daughter-in-law to-be.

"This smile can get me out of all kinds of scrapes." You grin and leisurely walk out of the room heading towards the hotel's kitchen. You know your way. You have done it numerous times before.

The minute you get there you see him busy at the pass.

The door slams shut behind you drawing attention to you. Stephen looks over at you. His hands still and he gives you a smile. Then he goes back to looking at the orders in his hand, dressed in chef whites. He looks flushed from the heat of the place but totally in control. His voice is clear over the noise of chopping, dicing, cutting, prepping and communication between the kitchen's subsections.

"Okay, guys, pay attention. My boyfriend has finally decided to grace the place with his presence so the guests will be sitting down now. We can start making starters." He briefly gives you a cheeky look. "Is each section happy with the orders in front of you?"

"Yes, chef!"

"Good. Listen up. Here are last minute special orders. Five pepper and tomato tarts without onions. Three sea bass, light on the chilli and no cream on ten of the butternut soups."

"Yes, chef!"

"Do me proud, guys. I want every plate to look perfect. This is for family."

He puts the special orders down and walks up to you with a smile on his face.

"Hi." You say.

"You shouldn't be in here, Bren. How many times-"

You put a finger over his lips, shutting him up.

"You looked so cute there. All sexy shouting orders like that. Don't spoil that with this."

You imitate a mouth opening and closing with a hand gesture.

He looks grumpily at you so you take his hand and lead him out of the kitchen.

"I can't be gone long." He whispers when you push him onto the wall of the corridor, hold onto his waist and step into his personal space.

"Give us a kiss." You murmur and try to capture his lips with yours as you trap him to the wall.

He ducks away from you.

"You have lipstick on your mouth."

"I do?" You rub your lips furiously. "Fucking Niks. Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Why was she kissing you?" He asks.

"She can't keep her paws off me." You quip. "She undressed in front of me at home. She attacked me in the cab."

"I trust her with you for a few hours and this is what happens." He gives you a small smile. "I should tell that bitch to back off!"

"Don't you start!" You smile. "When Martin flies over to visit I have to sit and listen to you and him chat away to each other as if I'm chopped liver. Fucking Martin! Your ex-fiancé Martin! And to top it off you have sat me down with him for dinner. Sometimes I think you hate me."

"You get along."

"What gave you that idea?"

"You talk." He says sheepishly.

"When I have to. Look I have no personal problems with the guy but he fucking had you, Stephen. How can you expect me to have a decent conversation with him without me wanting to chop his dick off?"

He winces at the visual your words conjure but he smiles at your obvious unhidden jealousy. "Sorry. I thought you were over it. It's just I don't see him like that no more. It were ages ago. He's a mate now."

You grunt.

He brings his hands up to your shoulders.

"And _you_ are my guy." There is a twinkle in his eye. "How about we call Nik's kiss and Martin sitting next to you equal?" He negotiates.

He looks at your lips and rubs what you assume is the last hint of rouge from them.

"Sound's fair." You concede.

"Why did you think this was a good idea?" You indicate the kitchen with a nudge of your head.

"I work here and I wanted to do something nice for Declan."

"By locking yourself in here when the party is out there?" You say.

"By cooking him the best veggie food he is ever going to eat at his engagement party."

"It's called spoiling."

"On his special day?"

"Maybe not. Are you going to join us at some point?"

"Can't." He bites his lower lip. "But we'll catch up later at home, yeah?"

"We aren't going home tonight." You say. "We'll be snowed in here by the end of the night."

"Shit really?"

"We'll need to take a room." You raise an eyebrow at him.

"Here?"

You step even closer to him.

"You. Me. A bedroom. No children. I'm talking about yours by the way. Coming into our room uninvited like it's their God given right. Disturbing sexy time."

"Sexy time?" He suppresses a smile.

"Yes."

"They aren't even with us right now. They're at Mike's birthday do in Manchester." Stephen says.

That's the thing about having a complicated family set up. There is always a family do or gathering of some sort sometimes with overlap. That is why Pete, Amy and Ste's children are notable omissions from the guest list.

"Even so. I am thinking we should shack up here tonight. Like an appetiser for our anniversary."

"You remembered." He is shocked. Sometimes you wonder to what extent he underestimates you.

"Our five year anniversary. How could I forget? I was forced to fly overseas in the dead of winter, just before Christmas, to claim you as mine again like some knight in shining armour."

He laughs. "That isn't exactly how it happened, though."

"Yeah well the general gist is you kept pushing me away so I had to get all Tarzan on you."

"You thought Pierre was my boyfriend."

"He was over you like a rash."

"He's straight."

"He still believes that? Anyway, I wooed you, successfully I might add, and you came back to Dublin with me."

"Eventually." He injects.

"Eventually."

"And soon we are moving back to Chester." He smiles.

"So I can be your trophy boyfriend while you open yet another restaurant."

You kiss him and he groans as he opens his mouth under the pressure of your lips. His hands find the back of your neck to pull you in even more and you press yours into his back.

"Trophy boyfriend slash restaurant and club manager." He says breathlessly when you pull apart.

You rest your forehead on his and smile at him.

"Brendan, I've got to get back to work. I don't want them thinking I'm slack just because I have handed in my notice."

"You are far from slack." You grab his firm arse, give it a squeeze and wink at him.

"Oh my God. You are proper randy tonight."

"There's love in the air, Stephen. Maybe it's got me in the mood."

He pushes you off and gives you a small kiss. "Love is in the air?"

"Are you fishing?"

"Maybe."

You grab the lapels of his white uniform. You stare down at him. His looks back at you in anticipation.

"Fine." You stare intensely into his eyes and he melts into your gaze. Then you whisper, "Fuck me, Stephen. I could bend you over and fuck you right now."

You burst into a wide grin.

"Bren! That is not what I meant!" He blushes furiously.

You surprise him with a small kiss and then whisper, "I love you," while looking straight at him.

You kiss the small place on his neck that gets him giggly. "I love you, Stephen."

And then you look him in the eye so he knows you mean it.

He takes a deep breath in and then lets it out before breaking out into a huge smile.

God. You want to get him into a hotel room now.

"I've got to go." He says reluctantly.

"Okay." You reply.

"Love you, too, Bren. We'll celebrate five years later."

As he walks away you think that really you are celebrating thirteen years. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

XOXO

**_Present day..._**

You are driven by possessiveness. You want Stephen to be yours again.

Just two short weeks shy of Christmas you find yourself walking down Chester high street wrapped up for the winter and carefully walking on the icy ground. You are following the directions he e-mailed to you until you stop outside his bistro. The front of the eatery is glass paned and decorated tasteful for the festive season.

_PECKISH!_

Stephen is sitting in the middle of a long rectangular table chatting away with his small group of guests as he hosts his pre-Christmas Christmas lock-in. He looks a bit different to when you last saw him. He has grown out his buzz cut for one.

It's the usual suspects Amy, Pete, Doug, Mitzeee, Jacqui, Rhys and Rae and Stephen's kids. There are another three children who you don't know and another man sat next to Stephen that you take an immediate dislike to.

He is typical of the people that used to get close to Stephen when you were together. Cute, smart looking, well above average and annoyingly attentive. And he has an accent. French. What is it with Stephen and non-English men; Martin, Doug, this guy, you?

The only welcome sight is Stephen's children who are twice the size you remember them.

You push the door open to be welcomed by inviting smells and a comfortable atmosphere that makes you feel like you have just stepped into someone's home.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Amy says when she sees you and stands up angrily. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

You have managed to sour the light joyful mood in a split second. She marches up to you with Rae right behind her and folds her arms across her chest. She hasn't changed at all. She is still a slip of a woman, waif-like in appearance but tough as nails inside.

While it is clear from little Leah's face that she recognises you, Lucas looks at you blankly. You are surprised by how much this bothers you especially when you know that both kids probably know Ste's ex very well.

It only fuels your need to part of his life again.

You push your hands into your jeans pockets. "I've come to see Stephen."

"Yeah. Well, that is not going to happen. You can leave now." Rae says.

"Rae, stop it." Stephen says as he rounds the table to go up to you. You had expected a wall of hatred but you had assumed that he would warn them that you were coming.

"I get that you are angry with me but he invited me." You say firmly to Rae and Amy. "I will only leave if he wants me to."

Amy cocks her head to one side. "Ste would have told me if you were coming."

"Ames. He's telling the truth. I did invite him." He looks apologetically at her then gives you a tentative smile. Everyone else is throwing you dagger eyes.

You are not welcome.

"And I want Brendan to stay." He tells those invited.

You love how he stands up for you. He shows how he is strong in ways that you hope you will be. He is not shy to stand up for what he believes in even if he stands alone without apology or compromise. That is such an admirable quality. Noble almost.

That is what Chez was referring to in her story where Stephen sprouted his wings. They symbolised his strength and pride in what he felt for you and gradually over time he helped you try to sprout you own. You did tentatively under his guidance but you have never fulfilled your potential, never really soured.

You have always been yourself with him in private but in public, you have never been entirely free, unrestrained and uninhibited. The occasional touch and look were not enough. Even your declaration of love in front of the doctor, a stranger you were never going to see again, was a crumb when compared to what he deserved.

Maybe that is what this eight year long journey has been about; Stephen as your knight in shining armour saving you and telling you that what you feel for him is okay.

Better than okay.

You stand in front of him and all your non-believers.

"Hi." You say.

"Hi."

"Stephen."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

His face is a picture. All the tone drops out of it at the sheer shock. Of your three words voiced in front of people who have at various times questioned your true feeling for him.

Leah and Lucas whisper furiously to their mother. Mitzeee squeals and Doug whispers, "Oh my God!"

You place a hand on his cheek and he melts into a smile. You then let it grip his hand and curl your fingers together. His is limp in yours.

"And you know that I can't stop thinking about you and that I want to be with you." You take a breath in. "So I came here because I want you to be my boyfriend."

Stephen's lips twitch and he shakes his head slowly and almost unnoticeably. Then he gives you a lopsided smile.

His hand gives yours a squeeze and in that moment you realise that you don't give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks; not the people in this room or the strangers outside.

You just want to be with him come what may.

His eyes tear up a little. You wonder whether you have misfired and totally got the wrong end of the stick. You rub his cheeks gently with your thumb and Leah walks up to her father to give him a hug while looking at you cautiously.

He drapes an arm over her but keeps his attention on you.

"I'm sorry." You whisper.

"No." He says. "It's just that, uh, that really shocked me."

He gives you a watery smile and you can't help but say, "You're beautiful."

He laughs incredulously so you give him a small wry smile. "And you are kind of leaving me hanging here."

"Oh."

You lean in to kiss him figuring that he can always give you a good old fashioned slap if he thinks you are being fresh. But he lets you capture his lips and as cheesy at it sounds it feels like coming home. You taste the saltiness of his tears and the wine he must have been sipping. Christ you could go on doing this forever. You suddenly wish you didn't have company, especially a fourteen year old Leah standing right there almost squashed between you. Unspeakable thoughts enter your head so you are forced to step away from him.

Leah is grinning at you like a lunatic. "Brendan, you can't just kiss dad like that in public!"

She blushes and covers her cheeks.

"Why not?" You say and lick over your lower lip.

She covers her face completely. "Don't know!"

"It's okay if he is my boyfriend though." Stephen says quietly.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

Leah widens her mouth and then shuts it.

Lucas pipes up. "Yeah, true. That would be okay." His tone is completely authoritative.

"God, I feel like I'm in school again or summat." Stephen says to you.

"What if I asked you out on a date, would you say yes?" You give him a sly grin which he returns.

"Depends."

"Bren. There is a free spot here." Pete says cautiously. "Come. Take a seat."

There has been a shift in the noxious atmosphere. The dagger eyes are gone but there is wariness. That's fine. You are willing to handle your sceptics.

"Thank you."

They shuffle so that you can sit next to Stephen.

"What are you having? White or red?" Doug asks.

"White please."

A glass of wine is poured for you and you reach for Stephen's hand.


End file.
